


Superheroes

by riverchic1998



Series: Superheroes [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Assisted Suicide, BAMF Stiles, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Humor, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sarcasm, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Feels, excessive sarcasm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 70,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22854970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverchic1998/pseuds/riverchic1998
Summary: When Stiles reads the posts, he’s more confused. They’re older posts, back from his undergrad freshman year, but it was during a supernatural attack that a bunch of people got caught in. Stiles practically ran himself into the ground offering support, advice, and gathering information for Scott and Derek so they could do damage control.“This tells me nothing,” Stiles says. “Except that you can use Google and know how to take screenshots.”“I consider it your resume,” Fury tells him.Stiles freezes, becausewhat.Fury doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t explain, even after Stiles gestures for more. “What the hell do you mean it’s my resume? If you haven’t realized it, I’m still in college.”He doesn’t look impressed. “You’vebeenin college. You have two degrees, four separate certifications, and you’re on the fast-track for a PhD.”“I like learning,” Stiles deadpans.“You like helping, and it just so happens that I have someone you can help.”
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Superheroes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845628
Comments: 1966
Kudos: 4001
Collections: Ashes' Library, My amazing all time favourites., Read Again They Were Good (clayrin), Sterek Classics, Teen Wolf XOvers





	1. Revolution, Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh dear god, I can't believe I'm finally posting this. This fic has been my baby for years. It's not finished yet, but I've gotten a good seventeen chapters written and the outline is done. Endless thanks to Jacy for being awesome and cheering me on (and giving me fucking ideas). The summary may change because they are the bane of my existence.
> 
> Each chapter is named after a song that either I listened to on repeat while writing or really emulates the chapter. This chapter is based off of Revolution by the Score. Give it a listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b99r48grKGI). 
> 
> _All my wolves, begin to howl  
>  Wake me up, the time is now  
> Oh, can you hear the drumming?  
> Oh, there's a revolution coming_

Stiles is exhausted and trying so hard to pay attention to the professor in his psychometrics and assessment class. He glances around and everyone else in the class seems to be in the same boat - nodding off, leaning their heads against an arm, blinking lazily at the ceiling. With a sigh, he tunes back into the professor, only to get a hard jolt from just behind his ribs. He may be tired, but even if he was dead asleep, he wouldn’t miss  _ that _ . The wards on his house have gone off. His class lets out just before Derek’s shift at work ends, so he’ll just text Derek as soon as the class is done. Their house doesn’t have anything dangerous in it unless the people inside wish him harm.

And hey, if Derek gets home first, he’s pretty sure they’re going to find their insides on their outsides. On second thought, maybe he should text Derek after all and remind him they just got the carpets cleaned.

When the wards for his desk goes off, Stiles frowns and contemplates risking his dick professor kicking him out of the class if he looks at his phone. Or throwing his pen at Stiles’ face, but Stiles is really good at ducking. This professor may think he’s progressive with his techniques, but Finstock was throwing things at Stiles’ face years ago.

Stiles can map the intruder’s way through the house with all the doors and cabinets that get opened. The exploration isn’t rushed, so he doubts it’s a thief. Some of the more expensive items are moved but not  _ removed _ , although he makes a face when his PS4 is lifted and put back. Like he’s going to hide anything in there.

His Jedi wards - aka his  _ this isn’t the information you’re looking for _ wards - never go off. Honestly, the whole experience feels more like a curious exploration than a search for something. Books are slid out of the bookshelf, but always put back and none of the dangerous books are moved.

When the wards for the fridge goes off, he can’t help his  _ what the fuck _ expression, because what the hell is he supposed to have hidden in his fridge? Stiles almost pulls out his phone to text Derek, but stops. His instinct tells him to wait, to not leave the class early like he wants. Usually when his gut screams at him, he pays attention. It’s kept him and his pack alive for eight years. He’s not about to ignore it now. After a few deep breaths, his muscles relax and his body goes slack again.

Derek will kill him when he realizes that Stiles is going home without alerting anyone that the wards on the house have been breached, but now  _ he’s _ the curious one. He’s a curious cat and he’s going to get fucking murdered one of these days. Maybe today.

As soon as the lecture is done and leaves the classroom, he can practically  _ feel _ someone watching him. He restrains from doing a 360 on the sidewalk with his middle fingers in the air, because he’s an adult and a professional, but it’s hard. Stiles also doesn’t pull out his phone to check his messages or emails. He’s not about to risk someone watching and assuming he’s asking for help.

Instead, he lets himself get pulled into a conversation with two classmates as they walk toward the parking lot. One peels off to head in a different direction, but Stiles remains engaged with the other student and sings the Mission Impossible theme in his head.

On the drive to the house, Stiles makes sure to blare the music - and if it’s his fight playlist, then there’s no one to judge him,  _ maybe _ \- and bop around to the music, singing the lyrics he knows and absolutely butchering the lines he doesn’t. Nothing out of the ordinary, and he lets his exaggerated motions cover his fidgeting.

And if he stops through the drive-thru for curly fries, well. Someone raided his fridge, and he doesn’t know if his after-school snack is still there. If someone  _ is _ there to kill him, he’s not going to go down without a fight and full stomach.

If Stiles hadn’t warded the shit out of the house, he never would have guessed anything was wrong when he finally arrives home. The door is locked and there are no scratch marks around the lock. If the wards also hadn’t alerted him that the front door was breached, he would assume they came in through the window.

He hitches his backpack higher on his shoulder so he can shove the door open. Stiles tosses his keys into the bowl he and Derek keep by the door but keeps his bag with him. There are definitely two people in the house, but they’re not waiting to ambush him right away. The lights are still off and nothing looks disturbed. It’s not dark enough to hide anyone since the sun is still up, but it’s getting closer to the evening and the setting sun creates shadows in the living room and kitchen.

As flippant as he’s been so far, he’s still pretty pissed. The wards are supposed to be an “in case of break-in” scenario that should never happen. He can’t think of a single person who  _ knows _ that he and Derek are there that’s stupid enough to try to sneak in and attack them. Their reputation is too kick-ass.

Stiles drops his bag on the small breakfast table he and Derek shoved next to a window at the edge of the kitchen and swallows down the last of his curly fries. “If you fuckers ate the last of the casserole I had in the fridge, shit’s going down,” he says to the room as he starts to rifle through his bag, tossing his heaviest book onto the table with a loud thud. He hopes he gets to smack someone in the face with it. “And really? Waiting in the dark? Cliche much? I know for a fact that there’s no lamps next to any chairs so your dramatic reveal’s kinda shot to shit.”

There’s a telling silence at the end of his statement and Stiles smirks. Stiles - 1, Intruders - 0. When the lights turn on, he sighs and turns to face the music… and blinks.

Hawkeye is leaning against the fridge, a tupperware container in one hand and a fork in the other. There are about two bites of casserole left in the container, and damn it, that was going to be Stiles’ snack. Stiles - 1, Intruder -1.

“Really, asshole?” he snaps, before his brain catches up to his mouth and  _ Hawkeye is in my kitchen _ fires around his head. There is an actual Avenger eating his food. Stiles doesn’t know what the hell to do with that.

He  _ really _ doesn’t know what to do when the Director of SHIELD before it went down in a blaze of helicarrier glory walks into the room from his bedroom. The  _ dead _ Director of Shield. Stiles had watched the nationally televised funeral. Does no one stay dead anymore?

“Oh my god, why were you in my  _ bedroom _ ?!” He narrows his gaze as he looks former Director Fury over head to toe and he just can’t resist asking a question that’s been bugging him for years. “Is that eyepatch really comfortable? Because I had a contact that ripped in my eye once and irritated the hell of it, and I had to get one of those really stupid pharmacy eyepatches, and holy crap, did I hate it. But it was either that or walk around with one contact in and one out, and I run into walls  _ with _ corrective contact lenses, so. Wasn’t really worth becoming a pirate, but you totally rock it. Has anyone tried to give you a parrot?”

His dad always told him that rambling at bad guys isn’t doing him any favors, but Stiles got some idiots to let him go once after he was kidnapped as leverage during a territory dispute by being super annoying. While superspies weren’t idiots, Stiles throws it out there. There’s logic in making himself an unwanted target and he’s pretty sure the Avengers won’t kill him.

When Hawkeye goes to put a forkful of casserole in his mouth, Stiles points at him. “Take another bite and I swear to Christ, I’ll shove that tupperware so far up your ass, you’ll never get the taste of plastic out of your mouth.”

The reaction is habit, borne of living with  _ literal wolves _ for years, and having one for a boyfriend. If he doesn’t defend his food with his life, he’d never eat. Thankfully, he doesn’t get an arrow in his eye, although he doesn’t see the Avenger with his bow and quiver. He’s actually dressed in normal clothes and not a uniform, but Stiles also knows that just because a weapon isn’t visible, doesn’t mean someone isn’t armed.

More surprising, the other occupant of the room chuckles. Glad to know he amuses someone.

“Mr. Stilinski,” Fury begins, but Stiles waves at him with both hands. He stops because Stiles looks like he’s in a slapfight with the air.

“That makes me look around for my dad or my tight-ass professors. Call me Stiles.”

Hawkeye snorts and puts the tupperware down. He leans against the counter and crosses his arms. Stiles blinks at the sight, because even though he’s in a loving, committed relationship with an amazing male specimen, the  _ arms on that man _ . He shakes himself and turns back to a not-as-amused Fury. “Hey, you guys broke into my house and ate my food. You’re not allowed to judge me.”

“Judging aside, you’re a hard man to track down.”

Stiles laughs and leans against the table. “Cliche number two. I’m living in a Bond movie. This is awesome.” When his chuckles stop, he gestures for Fury to continue. “Please, tell me how hard it was to track me down. I know that my Facebook privacy settings are harsh, but damn.”

Fury reaches to one of the side tables in the living room and picks up part of a stack of papers. He walks forward and tosses it onto the kitchen table. Even from the other side of the table, Stiles can see that they’re printouts of screenshots. Specifically, screenshots of forum posts. He recognizes some of the avatars, especially his. He frantically wracks his brain for any anti-Avenger posts he’s  _ ever made _ but he’s always been pretty pro-Avengers.

Hawkeye snickers at his expression. “What the hell are you posting on the Internet to warrant that face?”

Stiles glares at him. “Once something is on the Internet, it is  _ always _ on the Internet, and I was a very curious child. Teenager. Person.” He still doesn’t walk around the table or pull the papers closer. “You know, I still don’t know why you broke into my houses and snooped through my things.” Fury’s unreadable expression is so damn impressive that he can’t help but ask, “How many years of spy school did it take to achieve that level of perpetual indifference?”

“How did you know that your house had been infiltrated without the use of audio or video surveillance?” Fury counters. And wow, they  _ really _ searched his house.

“So I  _ was _ being monitored in class and on the ride home.” Stiles nods to himself, pulling out his smartphone and placing it on the table. “Good to know. Which means my phone is probably being monitored as well, so it’s a good thing I didn’t send an SOS message when I first thought to.”

The title of his memoir will be  _ I stared down Nicholas Fury and Survived… Sorta _ . Hawkeye treats the exchange like a tennis match and Stiles bets if there was popcorn in the pantry, it would be popping in the microwave. And now he wants popcorn. Damn it.

“And why would you need to send an SOS message?”

Stiles gives him a  _ duh _ expression. “Because my house was  _ broken into _ ?” He doesn’t think he’s used so much sarcasm in one sentence in a while. Stiles is proud of himself. 

“We’re back to figuring out how you knew that your house had been infiltrated.”

“Yeah,” Stiles drawls as he pulls his backpack closer. Both Fury and Hawkeye tense up, the Avenger going so far as to reach around to his back, which means he probably has a weapon holstered at the small of his back. Stiles called it. He’ll be smug later. Neither of the men relax until Stiles pulls an old, low-tech emergency burner phone and his water bottle from his bag.

There’s no GPS to track, no connection to the Internet to exploit, and it’s a burner phone purchased with cash at an old mom and pop electronic store with an old security system that sporadically shorted out. Each pack member has one, only to be used for an emergency. There are no numbers programmed in the contacts list, either.

Stiles dials the number to Derek’s burner phone, and waits for the call to connect, untwisting the top of his water bottle. Neither Fury nor Hawkeye stop him. Both of them appear to be curious. They’re in for a surprise.

When Derek picks up, Stiles starts talking as quickly as possible. The pack uses codes, and they all memorized and practiced so they could speak as clearly as they could while taking the least amount of time. Once the scowling duo realize he’s calling for help, if they even understand the code that’s being used, he needs to get Derek as much information as possible.

“10, 603, 32, 61.”  _ Home, forcible entry, man with gun, personnel in area. _

Derek inhales sharply. “45?”  _ Condition of patient _ .

Stiles smirks. “Adam.”  _ Condition good _ .

“3,” Derek snaps, telling him to end the call. If the alpha  _ is _ under surveillance, they’re about to have a hell of a time. Derek also doesn’t work too far away from the house, so his knight in shining fur will arrive fairly soon.

As soon as the call ends, Stiles takes the back off and removes the battery and SIM card, dropping both into the water. The whole exchange takes only four seconds and the phone parts are in the water seven seconds later. He tosses the now defunct phone into his backpack.

“That was actually impressive.”

Stiles whirls around to huff at Hawkeye. “What’s with the  _ actually _ ? You don’t know shit about me.”

“As a matter of fact,” Fury chimes in, and Stiles winces, because  _ fuck _ did he walk into that one, “we know a bit more about you than you probably think.” He tosses the rest of the papers on the table, next to the previously offered stack.

With a scowl, Stiles uses one of the placemats to pull the papers forward. Hawkeye’s eyebrows raise. “I’m not about to put my fingerprints on possibly incriminating documents. I’m not an idiot.”

Just as he’s about to make another smartass comment, Stiles catches the title of the second round of papers. He recognizes the title - it was his senior thesis for his Bachelor’s degree, which was a study on post-traumatic stress disorder both in cultures that accepted supernatural and paranormal ideals and cultures that did not. There were a lot more profound sounding words in his abstract - his title is practically a paragraph - and maybe Stiles can see where this is going. When he first talked to his advisor about his goals with his degree at the start of his undergraduate career, armed with the desire to help people and papers written after too much Adderall and coffee at two in the morning, the man actually laughed at him.

He should probably thank Iron Man. And Thor. Definitely the Hulk. Suddenly his crazy ideas about trauma caused by preternatural incidents that got him mocked for years got him semi-famous in the supernatural and metaphysical communities. His senior thesis was actually  _ published _ .

Lydia published her first paper three months before him and she’s never let him forget it. He says that it’s not fair because she started her college classes a semester early by attending online while completing high school. She reminds him that she started gathering data for her published paper at thirteen. That’s when he typically shuts up.

He pushes his thesis aside and pulls another paper closer, but this one is more recent. Stiles’ eyebrow rises when he checks the date. While not his thesis, this paper was still from his Master’s, and thanks to his unique experiences with the supernatural, his views on forensic mental health, trauma, and criminal justice weren’t the norm. He’s intimately familiar with guilt - survivor’s guilt in general - and acting due to forces beyond his control.

Stiles also became very good at skating around the supernatural elements that he’d love to include in papers, but that came from setting up and posting on supernatural trauma forums online in high school and his undergrad years. Turns out there were forums for similar situations, but they were hard to find and even harder to get posting access to. Stiles understood that - hello, hunters - but the need was still there.

There’s nothing supernatural mentioned in his school papers. He knows there isn’t anything mentioned on the forum posts, either, even if everyone posting there understood the codewords and the like, He doesn’t know what screenshots were taken and why actual superheroes are coming to him with copies.

When Stiles reads the posts, he’s more confused. They’re older posts, back from his undergrad freshman year, but it was during a supernatural attack that a bunch of people got caught in. Stiles practically ran himself into the ground offering support, advice, and gathering information for Scott and Derek so they could do damage control.

“This tells me nothing,” Stiles says. “Except that you can use Google and know how to take screenshots.”

“I consider it your resume,” Fury tells him.

Stiles freezes, because  _ what _ .


	2. Revolution, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Fury finish their conversation. Surprises all around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. I am just... blown away by the amazing love and support everyone has had for this fic. Seriously. Blown. Away. Thank you so much for the kudos, comments, and everything. I've had a truly shitty week and knowing everyone is as excited about this as me makes it better. Which is why you're getting this a day earlier than I planned on posting. Enjoy the 1000% done with your bullshit Stiles aimed in Fury's direction.
> 
> Chapter title comes from Revolution by Unsecret feat. Fleurie. Have a listen [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f0ZWgtUvVy4)
> 
> _Fate thickens the air  
>  We know our time is near  
> This is a revolution  
> We’re rising up, We're rising up  
> This is a revolution_

Fury doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t explain, even after Stiles gestures for more. “What the hell do you mean it’s my _resume_? If you haven’t realized it, I’m still in college.”

He doesn’t look impressed. “You’ve _been_ in college. You have two degrees, four separate certifications, and you’re on the fast-track for a PhD.”

“I like learning,” Stiles deadpans. The truth is, he _does_ like learning, and it not only helps his pack but other packs. That, and as a joke, he, Scott, and Lydia made a bet their senior year of high school to see who could get the most letters added to their official signatures. Lydia is kicking their ass.

“You like helping, and it just so happens that I have someone you can help.”

Stiles blinks, because that sounds a hell of a lot like a job proposal. At first, he thinks maybe they want him for his research, because he _is_ a kickass researcher. Then he panics because what if they want him for his _supernatural_ research? But no, they would be pulling up things that he could easily wave away as research for video games instead of his scholarly papers.

“Help,” he repeats dubiously. “Help how?” Stiles’ gaze darts down to the papers and then to the forum posts. “I’m not a doctor. I’m not going to school to _become_ a psychologist. That’s not my end game.”

“Then why are you here?” Fury asks, gesturing around.

Stiles wants to reply with, _I live here_ , but he knows what the question means. He crosses his arms defensively, because he’s answered this question before, fielded it from advisors, fellow students, and professors. _Why are you getting a degree in psychology if you’re not going to become a psychologist_?

He’s tired of justifying his actions for choosing the colleges he does. He got his Bachelor’s from _Stanford_. It’s not like he’s slumming. “I’m here because Cornell’s programs dedicated to research on perception and cognition are the best in the country. Which, if you actually read these papers instead of having your minions print them off, you’d know is the main focus in my studies.”

“Specifically,” Fury interrupts with an unamused expression, “environmental perception, post-traumatic cognitions, and trauma coping self-efficacy in people with PTSD. Why do you think I’m here?”

He throws his arms up in exasperation. “Jesus, I still don’t know. But, please tell me so I can get you the hell out of here. I have to start dinner before my boyfriend gets home, and if you’re still around when he shows up, he will kick your asses.”

Hawkeye snorts loudly and Stiles thanks the universe for its epic timing. Enough time has passed that Derek has run home, successfully disabled all the ground teams monitoring the house, and Stiles can feel him sneaking around the house to cross the wards.

“Really? You want to play it that way?” he shrugs. “Fine. How many of your teams have missed their check-ins by now?”

Fury frowns before looking to Hawkeye to confirm. Even the Avenger looks caught off guard, but he looks at his watch and then tilts his head to the side, murmuring too low for Stiles to hear. The frown deepens when he turns back to Fury. “Radio’s silent.”

Stiles smirks when Derek walks in from the bedroom, completely silent. Hawkeye notices his presence before Stiles thought he would and whirls around, pulling his gun and pointing it at Derek. The alpha gives him an unimpressed look before turning to Fury. “The radio’s silent because everyone attached to them are unconscious. What the hell are you doing in my house?”

Fury glares at Derek, and Stiles wishes he could pull his phone up to film the showdown. The glowers are ridiculous. “Was that necessary?”

Derek gives Fury a look he usually reserves for Stiles and Scott, when he thinks their stupidity might be catching. “When someone I care about calls me and says there’s a man with a gun in the house and he’s under surveillance, I think it is. I’m only going to ask one more time before you’re going to join the unconscious men outside.”

“Aww,” Stiles says, grinning at Derek, who glares at him. “Love you too, boo.”

“Are you really not going to say a thing about the gun pointed at your head?” Hawkeye asks, and he doesn’t sound that concerned either, but he also hasn’t made a move past drawing and pointing his gun. As the child of a veteran and police officer, Stiles knows that move is enough.

He also knows that Derek is fast and as an alpha, can heal practically anything, especially with his kick-ass emissary in the room who can do a hell of a lot of damage. Stiles loves being a BAMF. He loves being an underestimated BAMF even more.

Derek shrugs and turns his attention back to Stiles. “Still good?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, pushing the papers around with the placemat some more. “More confused than anything. I think they want to hire me for something?”

He doesn’t hold the incredulous expression against Derek. Stiles has a very specific skill set, and he has no idea why _the Avengers_ would need him. If they wanted him as a supernatural consultant, they wouldn’t have brought his papers or his degrees into the conversation at all.

“You couldn’t have called?” Derek asks sarcastically. Stiles grins at him as he pushes the papers away.

“This is the type of conversation that is… sensitive in nature,” Fury says, turning back to Stiles. “I didn’t just have my minions print off your papers. I read them. All of them. I also read your blog posts and forum responses, going back to your high school years. I didn’t come because I want another psychologist.”

Stiles’ brain latches onto the word _another_ , and Derek catches the wording as well. “Another?”

“If you want more information, you’ll have to sign an NDA, but don’t worry. You’ll be _very_ well compensated.”

Stiles laughs loudly, because _of course he will_. “Cliche number three! My life is complete.”

Derek takes the whole thing a bit more seriously than Stiles. “We’re not signing any paperwork until our lawyer looks it over. That includes the NDA. That’s also non-negotiable.”

He’s still chuckling, but just because he’s laughing doesn’t mean he’s not as serious as Derek. SHIELD may still be rebuilding, but it was a hell of an intelligence agency before it went down in flames. Stiles entire life is one giant secret, and he’s not going to sign anything that gives them power over him, even theoretically.

“Seriously?” Hawkeye asks, and it’s the first time Stiles has looked over at him… and he’s still holding a gun on Derek.

“ _You_ seriously?” he snaps before cocking his head to the side. “Wait, I thought you used a bow and arrow?”

“I use a lot of things.”

Stiles smirks and Derek rolls his eyes preemptively. “Jack of all trades, master of none?”

Before he can get a bullet to the head for being a little shit, Derek huffs at him. “Stop.” Stiles pouts, and is about to go on a tirade about how he absolutely needs to continue, but Derek gives him one of his _be serious_ expressions, so he stops. Derek turns back to Hawkeye, still looking very unimpressed. “If I was going to attack you, I would have done it when you didn’t realize I was in the house. Put it down.”

Hawkeye doesn’t put the gun down but at least Derek doesn’t look like he’s about to thrown down in their living room. If anything, Stiles is more on edge than the alpha, and he’s so fed up with the whole charade that if he doesn’t get his answers, he’s going to lose his shit.

“Jesus Christ, _look_ ,” Stiles snaps, hands on his hips like he’s Mama McCall trying to get the pack to actually behave at a family dinner. “You can get the hell out of my house or I will _make_ you get out of my house. My way isn’t fun. Trust me.”

Fury holds his hands up in a gesture that on anyone else would be open, apologetic, and honest. Stiles is so done with the whole charade, he actually rolls his eyes. “We just came here to talk.”

Stiles points at Fury like an Italian grandmother about to scold a child and of course that’s what makes Derek tense up. Hawkeye frowns and then twitches like he’s going to swing the gun at Stiles, taking his cue from Derek. The alpha snaps the handgun away, and Hawkeye doesn’t try to wrestle it away, saving himself from a broken finger. After Derek ejects the magazine and clears the chamber, he tosses the gun onto a chair behind him and turns back to Stiles with an eyebrow raised.

He grins at Derek, because that was impressive _and_ hot, before his expression drops and glares at Fury again. “You break into my house, _eat my food_ , pull this cryptic bullshit about hiring me, show me my academic papers and forum posts that are behind layers of encryption for a reason, and then throw around words like _non-disclosure agreements_ and _compensation_ , like I’d be willing to keep my mouth shut just because you pad my bank account with zeroes!”

Stiles honestly didn’t mean to go on a long rant, but the more this farce goes on, the angrier he gets. Fury’s back to that damn indifferent expression, but Hawkeye looks vaguely impressed. With a snarl to rival a wolf, he takes a step forward. “So not only did you violate my trust and the trust of everyone on those forums, you’ve shown you’re nothing more than a bully who doesn’t care about the mental or physical well-being of the people you interact with. I don’t care what the hell you came here to do. Get the _fuck_ out of my house.”

For a moment, the only sounds in the house come from Stiles’ heavy breathing, but Hawkeye sighs and pulls out his wallet. When he thumbs out a twenty and hands it over to Fury, Stiles’ confusion goes through the roof.

“You know,” the Director begins, putting the money in his coat pocket, “you aren’t the first to make it past the compensation offer, but you are the first to call me on all the other bullshit. That just means I found the right person.”

Stiles stares him down, still trying to piece together what the hell is going on. When his brain finally catches up, he honestly debates grabbing his psych book and smashing it into that smug face. “Cool story, bro. You’re still a dick that can GTFO.”

Hawkeye snorts but relaxes against the counter. His hand edges towards the tupperware and Stiles resists the urge to hiss at him. “At least hear us out.”

The disbelieving expression on his face is mirrored on Derek’s. Does this honestly work on other people? Stiles would be impressed by the sheer amount of ego if he wasn't on the receiving end of it. “Wow, what a recruitment strategy. You must hire the best people. Oh, _wait_ ,” he says dryly.

Even Derek snorts at that, but Stiles isn't moving. There's nothing that they can say or give him that will make him change his mind. The sooner they realize that, the better.

The director puts more papers on the table and Stiles sighs loudly. “What is that? My spelling test from the fifth grade?”

“It's the non-disclosure agreement,” Fury says. “Which you're going to sign before I tell you anything else. Not negotiable.”

Eyebrow raised, Stiles leans over to look at the tiny print. With a huff, he glares at Fury. “No, it's the piece of shit paper that you can shove up your--”

“We told you,” Derek interrupts, “that we're not signing anything without consulting with our lawyer. Also not negotiable.”

Fury turns his glare from Stiles to Derek. “I don’t have _time_ for you to consult a lawyer. This is time-sensitive. Why the hell do you think I showed up in person?”

Stiles blinks at the question that doesn’t seem quite as hypothetical as it probably should have. He immediately takes advantage to be a smartass. “To emotionally scar me for life?”

Derek doesn’t back down though. “Too bad. We’re not signing paperwork without having someone consult it first. Sorry to say that you’re not the most trustworthy group of people out there.”

Hawkeye huffs and crosses his arms. “I’m an Avenger!”

“You’re just proving his point, you know.” Stiles pulls out his actual phone and drags the paperwork closer to him. He gets a clear picture of each page - and _wow_ , are there a lot of them - and then attaches them to an email. Ignoring the posturing on the other side of the room, he pulls up his favorites and hits the number he really doesn’t want to dial.

Before Peter can say anything when he picks up, Stiles hits the speaker button and holds the phone out so everyone can hear. “Peter, you’re on speaker so try not to let your inner psychopath show.”

“Too late,” comes the flippant reply. Stiles silently agrees. “To what do I owe the honor of a phone call with normal people?”

Stiles laughs loudly and sarcastically. “Oh, you have no idea how wrong you are. Look, I just emailed you an NDA that someone wants me to sign. It’s going to suck; I know that. Just tell me how bad it is.”

Peter hums but the noise of his keyboard comes across clearly through the speaker. Stiles knows the exact moment Peter sees exactly who the NDA comes from.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Peter says, disappointment clear in his voice.

“God, I know. _I know_.” Stiles sighs. He can’t believe that he actually feels like he deserves that disappointment from Peter, of all people. “It’s not like I sought them out. They broke into the house and ate my food.”

There’s a silence on Peter’s end that is very telling. “You’re more upset about the food, aren’t you? Christ, you’re irritating.” Stiles smirks at Hawkeye but looks back down at his phone as he listens to Peter hit keys on his keyboard. “Well, first off. You’re not signing this. I’m half-expecting them to ask for your firstborn if you break this.”

“Well considering ass babies only exist in fanfiction, I think that’s something I don’t have to worry about,” Stiles says, ignoring the looks that gets him from the people in the room.

Peter sighs and continues on without comment. “If you sign this, I’ll kill you. I don’t even think I could have made this more evil.”

Stiles feels vindicated, because he _knew_ that. Derek moves closer so he can be heard through the microphone. “So fix it. If we don’t sign something, they’ll never leave and I want to sleep at some point today.”

“Well, let me drop everything for you, shall I?” Peter snaps.

Derek and Stiles both roll their eyes. “Uh, yes?” Stiles replies. “He wasn’t kidding about the sleeping thing. They already ate my dinner.”

Peter sighs loudly. “Stiles, you don’t even know what they want you to do.”

“Yes, I do,” Stiles refutes. “I’m just trying to figure out with whom, honestly.”

Fury is still stone-faced. He isn’t shocked by Stiles’ admission, but he doesn’t give anything else away, either. He and Stiles have a staring contest and when he nods first, Stiles wants to fist pump in victory.

“I’ll give you the name if you sign the NDA.”

Peter breaks the silence. “First, he’s not signing it. Second, _Stiles_.”

The disappointment is even stronger this time, and even though Peter can’t see him, Stiles flails his arms. “What part of _broke in_ and _ate my food_ do you not understand? It’s not like I brought him home with me!”

Derek snorts when Peter sighs loudly. “I’m going to email you a blank copy of the NDA you signed with Madison when you went to Stanford. It’s just as secure but you won’t be tossed into a prison cell the moment you open your mouth to express your opinion.”

“Thank you,” Stiles tells him, because he can be polite when he wants.

“Thank me by not signing it and continuing on with your superhero-less life. You attract enough trouble as it is,” Peter says tightly. As he pulls the phone away to hang up, Stiles can hear Peter still huffing to himself, “Why is it always him?”

Derek snorts. “He’s not wrong.”

“Don’t remind me,” Stiles mumbles as he opens his email and sends the document to the printer in the office. As soon as he can hear the document start to print, Stiles puts his phone away and turns back to Fury. “Look, this is your last chance. Look over the NDA that I’m actually willing to sign, tell me the name, and then when I decide to follow the sound legal advice I just received and finally kick you both out of here to never see you again, we can all pretend this never happened except in my nightmares. Sound good?”

Stiles doesn’t wait for an answer, instead skating around Hawkeye to head to the office. After a moment, he grabs the tupperware on the counter and cradles it to his chest with a glare. He uses the moments of silence in the office to gather his thoughts, because he wasn’t lying when he told Peter that he figured out why Fury was here.

The security on the forums he frequented were as good as money could buy, and with not only the Hales but multiple supernatural clans across the globe invested in privacy, there was a lot of money to buy said security. So for Fury to go so deep into his background to find the forums and review how he handled previous supernatural PTSD and trauma situations, the person he’s slated to help has to be at the top. And he knows it’s going to be supernatural PTSD and trauma _because_ they brought up those forums in the first place. That was probably the biggest mistake on their part.

He doesn’t think it’s Hawkeye, for two reasons. Fury wouldn’t bring the person to him, and Hawkeye was public about how he received help after he was mind-controlled by Loki during the Battle of New York. Stiles gets the feeling he’s here more for the amusement factor than anything else.

His top two choices are Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, and the thought of meeting those two, let alone giving them whatever help he can, makes him want to cry in a corner and cringe at the same time. He and Stark are probably on the same level, annoyance wise. They would murder each other in a day. With Rogers, Stiles doesn’t think he could hold back his questions about World War II, and that probably wouldn’t help in the first place.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles gathers all the papers together and heads back into the living area. After handing the NDA to Fury, he grabs the fork in the tupperware container he’s still holding and eats the last few bites of what was going to be a good dinner.

Derek makes a face at him. “You couldn’t have gotten a new fork?”

“For two bites?” Stiles asks, his mouth still full as he shrugs “You know I hate doing the dishes.”

“Which is why you never do them in the first place,” Derek argues, crossing his arms with a huff, like he doesn’t depend on the dishwasher as much as Stiles does. “You’re brushing your teeth before I kiss you again.”

He rolls his eyes so hard it actually hurts. The sad thing is he knows that Derek isn’t kidding. “Oh my god, are you five? Are you seriously worried about Hawkeye cooties?”

With a smirk, Derek looks across the room at said Avenger before turning back to Stiles. “You’re _not_?”

Stiles stops chewing as he really thinks that question over. With a whine, he walks over to the sink and spits the rest of the food out and fills a glass with water for a rinse. “Damn it.”

“Aw, food, no,” Hawkeye says sadly, hand outreached like he can actually stop Stiles.

“It was my food, you _vulture_!”

Before Stiles and an Avenger get into what could probably be a kickass food fight, Fury interrupts them with a dry, “Well, at least you’ll fit in.” Pulling a pen out of his jacket, he glances up at Stiles. “These papers will get you the name, but nothing else. We _will_ have to get more legal paperwork in place before that comes.”

Stiles scoffs, because there is nothing he can be told to make him consider signing away his life to an ex-government spy agency that had been infiltrated by Nazis for decades. He takes the offered pen from Fury carefully, signing on the last page. Derek signs next and they both stand back with expectant expressions on their face.

“James Buchanan Barnes.”

Stiles inhales sharply, completely caught off guard. That’s a name that he’s more familiar with than most Americans, except probably Captain America. Derek looks concerned at his reaction, although that’s probably from his now-racing heartbeat. Hawkeye also looks confused, but Stiles is too busy staring down Fury to care.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” he repeats slowly. “The marksman from the 107th Infantry Regiment who served in the European Theater of World War II until his _death_ in 1945? _That_ James Barnes?”

A bit of understanding crosses Derek’s face, because one of the first things Stiles did when first hit New York was to go see the 107th Infantry Memorial. He never told Derek the importance, but he knows that Stiles’ dad served. He knows that Stiles has always treated anyone who served at any time with more respect than most people expect from him.

He just doesn’t know that James Buchanan Barnes is the reason Stiles even exists.

When Fury nods, all the air escapes Stiles’ lungs in a heavy exhale. No one else in the room seems to understand how much of a world-changing conversation they’re having. Every single Avenger could start doing cartwheels through his house and he wouldn’t notice or care.

The air is tense, and for once, Stiles doesn’t want to break it with a smartass comment. All he wants to do is call his dad and ask what the hell he’s supposed to do. His anxiety ramps up and he crosses his arms just to shove his hands out of sight to cover the shaking.

“You know, most people only know him as Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s friend.”

A bitter smile curls his face at Fury’s casual statement. As the perpetual sidekick to Scott, then Lydia throughout his high school years, he’s always hated being referenced only next to another person. He can’t imagine anyone else enjoying it either, but this time, he pushes that aside.

“I’m not most people.”

Fury nods. Stiles actually feels like they understand each other for the first damn time all afternoon. “Why do you think I’m here?”

Stiles swallows tightly because he also understands just how much he’s being trusted with. He’s honored, in a strange way. When he turns to face Derek, his alpha raises his eyebrows expectantly. Stiles almost regrets making up his mind without talking to anyone else, but he was helpless the moment James Barnes’ name was said.

“Peter’s going to kill me.”

When Derek understands the statement for what it is - Stiles admitting he’s going to jump through whatever hoops Fury puts in front of him without regrets - he groans. He doesn’t blame Derek, honestly. Their lives just became a million times more complicated, because it’s not like he’s going to be working with superheroes while trying to keep werewolves a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you to everyone who has been showing your love. And for those lurkers, I hope you enjoy as well.


	3. Who I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek head to Avengers Tower. It... does not go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a week from hell. Seeing how much you all are enjoying my baby really helps. Thank you for reading and all the comments. It was so fun to watch everyone guess how the plot will play out. 
> 
> Chapter title comes from the song "Who I Am" by the Score. Have a listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MwtvktjEuOM).  
>  _  
> Take me as I am, or don't  
>  'Cause I don't give a damn, no  
> I have my flaws  
> I make mistakes  
> But I'm myself  
> I'm not ashamed  
> That's who I am_

Even though Stiles agrees to help, he was still very serious when he said that there would be more contracts to sign but that he wasn’t going to sign them until they were looked over. He wants to help, but at the same time, the logistics are a nightmare. Peter threatens to kill him in very imaginative ways, Stiles threatens the same right back, and they go back to working out how Stiles can protect his secrets while around the best spies in the world.

Fury and Peter email each other contracts back and forth, and if Peter’s increased irritation is anything to go by, no one is happy. It’s hard to compromise when both sides are made up of stubborn assholes. Fury wants him to live in Avengers Tower. Stiles refuses, because he is _not_ living with superheroes in the most technologically advanced building in the world controlled by an artificial intelligence. When Fury states that he can live somewhere within fifteen minutes of the tower, Derek shoots him down saying that even if they lived in a building on the same block, it would still take a half hour thanks to the crazy Midtown traffic and tourists. Stiles wants to continue his studies, but Fury wants him available at all times. There’s long, drawn-out arguments about pay, because while Stiles can’t be bought, he’s going to milk this deal for all it’s worth. Part of the agreement that Fury doesn’t want to budge on is Stiles being able to tell his family and friends where he is. Stiles flat out tells Fury that if he can’t be honest about what he’s doing - minus whom he’s doing it _for_ \- he’ll walk, no matter what. In the end, it takes a month for everyone to agree to the basics and be able to sit down to nail down the contract.

Peter flies in for the occasion, and Stiles hides behind Derek at the look he gets from his lawyer. It’s going to be a long day of debates, and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t get Fury to agree to pay his legal fees, on account of he is the one who was determined to bring Peter in the first place. Stiles thinks that’s stupid, because who signs their life away without reading the fine print?

Some things they already decided on during the long passive-aggressive email debates. Stiles and Derek will live in the tower, because there really isn’t any other option. Derek’s confident he can find the surveillance system and Stiles knows he can give them privacy from nosy spies. The true test will be if his belief is stronger than an artificial intelligence digging into their pasts. They also agreed on the pay, _finally_ , for both him and Derek. He’s allowed to talk to his family and friends, and tell them he’s contracted to someone in New York City, but that’s it. Stiles doesn’t mention that if he wanted to tell them, he has ways and codes that they’ll never crack.

The biggest issue turns out to be, surprisingly, him continuing his education. He’s not going to stop studying and learning, and Stiles thought this would be the easiest problem to solve. He’s even been proactive, talking to the faculty at Cornell and Columbia University. They eventually agree on the details - he’ll be on campus two days a week, unless there’s an actual emergency, and other correspondence can be done online. He gets to work in the Columbia PTSD Research Center, which makes him giddy. The Avengers will also pay for the difference in his tuition _and_ the mortgage on the house in Ithaca. At first, they refused, but when Stiles pointed out that residence was the only reason he was charged in-state tuition versus out-of-state, and he would be happy to sell the house if they weren’t willing to pay, they quickly agreed. The papers were signed and Stiles has no idea what he’s just done.

Moving turned out to be ridiculously easy. He didn’t have to do a thing, because a group of professional movers had the house packed and emptied in less than a day. There were some things that Stiles packed himself, like all his supernatural texts and items. Those were placed in boxes and then warded to hell and back. To anyone but Stiles and Derek, it looked like another box of random kitchen items. The day before they were officially leaving, Stiles took down all the wards and protections around the house.

Both of their vehicles are going into storage, because Derek pointed out there is no way either of them is driving in Manhattan, and payment for all their transportation, whatever type it may be, is covered under the contract. Once the house is empty, a car is sent to pick them up and Stiles can’t help the excitement that creeps up the closer they get to the Tower. He’s going to be calm as a fucking cucumber when he first meets everyone, but as soon as he’s alone in his room, he’s going to flail harder than Kermit the Frog.

The car drops them off in an underground garage. Stiles grabs his backpack that holds his electronics, because no way was he letting _those_ out of his sight, especially now. He’s surprised when Hawkeye is the one waiting for them by an elevator.

“Sorry, Hawkdude, I don’t have any leftovers for you to steal,” Stiles tells him.

The other man smirks, but holds his hand out. “I figure you can actually call me by name now, since we’re going to be living together and all. Clint.”

“Cool,” Stiles says, shaking his hand with a nod. “You already know my name since you _broke into my house_.”

Clint shakes his head and leads them into the elevator, saying, “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

Stiles smirks as he follows. Derek just sighs behind him. “Nope.” He waits until the elevator is moving to speak again. “So are you our official welcoming committee?”

He shrugs, and Stiles is kind of irritated, because he forgot that spies and superheroes have hard-to-read body language. They’re too damn good at faking it. He makes a face at Derek, who shakes his head. Steady heartbeat. Of course.

“More like I thought you’d appreciate a familiar face before the entire group descends. They’re all up there waiting,” Clint tells them.

“I don’t understand. Fury made it sound like I’m just the next person in a long line of people to get this job.” Stiles turns to Derek. “Am I right?”

Derek snorts. “Considering how many times the lawyers bitched about the other people not putting them through the hell you did, I’d say you are.”

Clint grins. “Exactly. Fury wasn’t exactly quiet about how much of a pain in the ass you were, but how he thought it would be worth it. Everyone wants to meet you.”

Stiles sighs heavily and leans against the elevator wall. He really wishes that the NDA went both ways, because the last thing he needed was everyone expecting an amazing, and probably old, psychologist with years of experience and getting him. Fury probably did it just for the hell he put him through with the contract. Fucker. “Well, that means this is going to go one of two ways. Either everyone has an open mind and they’ll be willing to listen, or they see me, make snap judgements, bitch loudly like children having a tantrum, and I get paid to sit in a fancy building in Manhattan trying not to be bored out of my skull. Awesome.”

Clint doesn’t say anything, and Stiles takes it as an agreement. He remembers the bet Fury apparently made with Clint at their first meeting, and how the Avenger didn’t seem that impressed with him in the beginning. He’s hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst.

Derek brushes his hand against his back and it does help settle him a bit. It may seem silly, but he really wants to impress these people, which is usually a sentiment he kicks away. They were literal superheroes. He grew up listening to stories of Captain America and James Barnes, and he’s about to _meet them_. He’s in Iron Man’s tower, where an actual _god_ lives, too. If the Black Widow is there, he might actually pee himself. He has a thing for confident redheads. He starts taking deep breaths so he doesn’t hyperventilate.

When the elevator dings and the doors open, Stiles hitches his backpack higher on his shoulders and follows Clint out. Derek is right at his side, and he knows that the alpha is tense and wants to shove Stiles back into the elevator. They already had a talk about how difficult it would be curbing his instincts around so many spies, fighters, and nosy geniuses. Derek’s gotten a lot better at playing human and Stiles worked with Peter to imagine every possible contingency where his magics and beliefs could fail to keep their secret, so he could practice.

But now that he’s in the room, he kind of wants to let Derek shove him away. There are a lot of intense looks from people with alpha personalities. Stiles keeps taking steady, deep breaths as he looks around the room. Thor is absent, but everyone else is lounging around a bright, open space in a manner that looks way too staged. Clint snorts but steps to the side to fully reveal Stiles.

Fury walks up to him, because of course he’s here. He doesn’t do anything like hold out his hand to shake, but the man does turn to face the rest of the Avengers with a stern expression. Stiles doubts it’s really all that effective. It oddly makes him feel a tiny bit better, because it gives the illusion someone else is on his side.

He’s the only person to move beside - oh, fuck - Captain America himself. Steve Rogers looks different than all his publicity photos, but that’s probably because the only time he’s really photographed, he’s in his Captain America uniform or a suit worthy of any A-list celebrity. The typical charming smile that accompanies all those photos is gone. Despite the fact that the man is wearing a t-shirt and jeans, he looks like he’s about to go into battle.

Stiles blinks when it’s clear that _he_ is the one on the other side of that particular battlefield. No one else in the room appears all that pleased about him either. Stark gives him an elevator look then snorts, going back to his drink. To be fair, he expected Stark to be a dick, no matter what.

“This is Mr. Stilinski,” Fury says, and Stiles makes a face because he _hates_ being called that. Fury knows that, too. “He’s here to help Barnes. This is Mr. Hale,” Fury gestures to Derek, and Stiles tries to hold back the smirk. “He’s here because Mr. Stilinski is a pain in my ass and they’re a package deal.”

Stark raises his head again, his expression tighter. “Mr? Not Doctor?”

The part of Stiles that wanted to impress everyone in this room shrivels up and dies. He remembers why he generally doesn’t give a fuck about what people think about him. It’s so exhausting. So Stiles does what he does best: be an asshole.

With a shrug, he tells them, “Not a doctor, dude.” Stiles mentally high-fives himself when Stark’s eye twitches. The comment gets him a sharp look from Fury, who should honestly be used to Stiles by now due to how many meetings they had over the past month. He doesn’t get the same reaction from Rogers, but the man’s shoulders tighten. If the man clenches up anymore, Stiles really is going to dive behind Derek while yelling _fire in the hole_.

“And what kind of experience do you have?” Rogers asks. There’s a hint of sarcasm to his voice, and while typically Stiles would be all about engaging in a battle of sass with someone, he’s hit his judgmental asshole limit for the day. He mentally reminds himself that if the roles were reversed, he would be just as much of a judgemental asshole, but it doesn’t do him much good.

“That’s none of your business,” Stiles says firmly. “And before you come back saying that it is, I have a legal document signed on behalf of the Avengers that says it isn’t.”

They all look surprised at that, and the Black Widow - oh Christ, he’s going to make embarrassing noises in a second - is the first to look at Fury with a raised eyebrow.

“Trust me,” Fury says in answer to her unasked question, “it’s ironclad. I would have hired his lawyer for myself, if the man wasn’t so goddamn infuriating, .”

“God, you can have him,” Stiles mutters, even though he only half-way means it. It’s surprisingly helpful to have a lawyer in the know on his side.

Derek snorts. “You wish.” It’s the first time that everyone’s attention is drawn away from Stiles, and when Rogers dismisses him immediately, Stiles can practically taste the irritation and annoyance coming from Derek. The Black Widow isn’t so quick to dismiss him, but thankfully, Fury draws the attention away from them.

“This is happening, Cap. After all I went through to find him, and the additional month of hellish negotiations, he’s staying.”

Rogers takes a few more steps forward, and it finally allows Stiles to see the man he’s dedicated the next however time period of his life helping.

Barnes looks nothing like the history photos from the 1940’s. His hair brushes his shoulders in unkempt waves, and there’s a Derek-worthy layer of stubble on his face. The metal arm doesn’t surprise him, since he was warned ahead of time during the negotiations. He’s dressed similarly to Rogers, except the shirt is long-sleeved, and only his metal left hand is bare.

By the time Stiles looks back at his face, Barnes is staring at him with narrowed eyes. Stiles cocks an eyebrow and tunes back into the bitching that he totally knew was coming. Rogers seems to be the main one complaining to Fury, but Stark has also moved beside Dr. Banner. He looks about done with Stark as Stiles is, stating loudly that he’s still _not that kind of doctor_. Stiles is very much aware what kind of doctor Bruce Banner is. He’s had to listen to hours of Lydia talk about him through the years.

Even though it’s what he expected, Stiles is still pissed. He knew this whole thing was going to be an ordeal, but he thought he would just pushing with Barnes, not the whole damn Avengers team. Clint is the only one who isn’t protesting his presence. Well, the Black Widow isn’t, but she doesn’t seem all that impressed with him either.

She turns her head to share a look with Barnes, and his careful expression melts into one of irritation. Well, there goes the one person who didn’t look at him like he was the scum on their shoes. Stiles can handle those looks from everyone else in the room, but coming from Barnes, it stings. Looks like his prepare for the worst mindset was the right one, after all.

“Plan B it is,” Stiles sighs. Clint grimaces, and Stiles resists the urge to fistbump him. At least someone besides Derek and Fury is in his corner.

“Excuse me? What the hell does that mean?” Rogers snaps, stopping his rant mid-sentence with Fury.

Stiles can be battle-ready, too. He’s dealt with pretentious hunters, smug alphas, and infuriating as all fuck faeries. He’s seen more shit in the past decade than most people experience in their lifetime. He may admire these people, may respect them for their willingness to risk their lives to protect the world, but he’s been doing the same thing since he was sixteen. He just didn’t get the same kind of recognition, nor did he want it.

“It means you can all go _fuck yourselves_ ,” he says loudly.

The room becomes completely quiet. Everyone is frozen, staring at him with wide eyes. He knows from media footage that they’ve been in contact with very vocal haters, but he doubts someone has been in their literal house shouting it at their faces. Clearly, someone needed to.

“None of you know jack shit about me. _These_ fuckers,” Stiles says, gesturing to Fury and Clint, “broke into my house. You all may be used to people digging into your lives, but I don’t like it when information that is hidden for not only my privacy, but others’, is printed off and thrown in my face when I’m ambushed. Or how about the fact that I moved here even though I hate New York City? That I put my education on hold for this? And I can’t even tell my family anything, so that’s the majority of _my_ support system gone. The only reason I’m not leaving is because I’m pretty sure Fury knew that you’re all dicks and put in my contract I had to stay for at least three months, regardless of if I actually talk to anyone. Oh, but that’s okay, because you don’t, what? Like the way I look? My age?”

No one answers him, but none of them look properly cowed, either. Clint’s having some weird staring contest with the Black Widow, but her steady expression doesn’t waver. He’s so exhausted he just wants to sleep and let Derek curl around him so he doesn’t have to deal with this shit.

“So in answer to your question, Captain Asshole, Plan B was me knowing that you douche-canoes would judge me by my looks and my age, without even bothering to ask why I was literally hunted down in the first place. So I’m going to have the only decent person in this building besides my lovely boyfriend take us to our rooms so you can bitch like the toddlers you really are. Fucking stick that in your juice box and suck it.”

His rant finished, he turns to Clint with an expectant look on his face. The archer sighs and nods back to the elevator. Stiles turns back without a second glance. He can practically feel Derek’s disappointed face aimed at everyone else before he follows, protecting Stiles’ back. Once the doors close, Stiles doesn’t slump back like he wants, but he does take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

When Clint opens his mouth, Stiles just shakes his head. “Don’t even bother, dude.”

When they arrive on the correct floor, Clint leads them out. Even though Stiles just doesn’t want to talk to anyone but Derek for the next week, Clint stops at their door. “Look, even though I know Fury covered it in the contract or whatever, you should know that the whole thing was recorded by Tony’s AI, Friday. She’s wired through the whole building. She practically runs it. That means she’s in the rooms, too. That’s the reason there aren’t any keys or cards to get into the rooms. You set the visitor list, but Tony can override that, too.”

Oh, Stiles definitely knew that. His brain hasn’t let him forget it. “Yeah, I know. Is there a particular reason she’s in the private rooms, too?” When Clint just gives him a look, Stiles rolls his eyes. He’ll be able to keep the surveillance and recordings from working when he or Derek are in the room. “Yeah.”

“Thank you,” Derek tells him, grabbing Stiles’ shoulder and pushing him toward the door. The door unlocks and that’s definitely going to take some getting used to.

Clint nods and heads back to the elevator, pausing halfway there. “And for the record? I’m sorry about this.”

Stiles just gives him a sad smile before he follows Derek inside. “So am I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, this is _not_ a hate on Team Cap fic. In this universe (which will be explained a little better in chapter six), Civil War didn't happen. Because. It just didn't. Steve's just a little hangry. It'll get sorted soon. In the meantime, Stiles will be the asshole we know and love. Don't worry. He makes a friend in the next chapter.


	4. Legends are Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor comes for a visit. It's electrifying (oh god i couldn't help it please make it stop i hate puns)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, it's been a hard week and all your support has been amazing. Getting your comments and kudos makes me smile. Hopefully this chapter will make everyone smile and be a bright spot in your day. Many thanks to Jo, one of my dearest friends who has started to beta this for me and is helping me working out an ending. 
> 
> Chapter title comes from Legends are Made by Sam Tinnesz. 
> 
> _I've got that lightnin' inside me  
>  Son of a God  
> I'm like a titan that's risin'  
> Oh just you watch  
> I'm stepping' into fate  
> There is no time to waste  
> I've got that lightnin' inside me  
> This is how legends are made_

Stiles doesn’t know if he and Derek are given a full apartment with a kitchen and living room because that’s just standard ridiculousness for rooms in the upper levels of Avengers Tower, or if the Avengers hope having their own spaces keeps them out of the common areas. If it was the latter, they failed, because no way in hell is Stiles going to let these people hire him and then shove him in a box to be ignored. If he’s going to be uncomfortable, they’re all going to be uncomfortable.

Derek insists on accompanying him everywhere, which Stiles has absolutely no problem with. When he shows up in the main lounge or kitchen area, the Avengers magically appear within ten minutes. He thinks it’s hilarious, and once came back after leaving fifteen minutes before to see if they would all reappear. As soon as the last person arrived, Stiles packed up and left again.

He did it two more times before the Black Widow finally glared and walked off. After that, they all caught on and he couldn’t pull the trick anymore without looking like an idiot.

They stop tailing him in the common areas completely after the fourth time he settles onto one of the loungers at three in the morning when his insomnia kicks his ass. Derek sleeps pressed up against him, used to Stiles being up at odd times, but always wakes when someone else enters the room, even Romanoff or Barnes who are completely silent and stick to the shadows. He makes the best proximity alarm.

The only person who talks to him besides Clint is Stark, but that’s only because Stiles has blocked the Avengers from hunting down any information about him or Derek. Their personal information is virtually inaccessible to everyone, but Stiles knows that the Avengers - specifically, Tony Stark - have ways of getting around encryption and firewalls. So Stiles has taken to randomly thinking that any personal or professional information relating to himself, Derek, or anyone that they’re close to just can’t be found. It’s simple, but he’s learned that magic typically is. Judging by Stark’s increasingly agitated questions, it’s working. Occam’s Razor for the win.

So three weeks go by, and he’s not seen Barnes except when he’s walking with Romanoff or Rogers in the common areas. When they see Stiles, they make themselves scarce very quickly. Stiles isn’t worried about it since he made sure that his contract states that he doesn’t have to actually speak with Barnes. He had to lobby hard for that one, but as he pointed out to Fury, sometimes people just aren’t ready to talk, and he’s not about to force someone so traumatised to relive the experiences if he’s not ready to. The lack of progress frustrates Stiles, especially when he’s used to working with individuals who _want_ his help. But, he’s lived through having your body do things you don’t want it to do, and the inability to express how that feels. Not that anyone else knows that, but he’s not here to talk about his issues. He’s here to help Barnes with his, except he’s still not exactly sure what those are.

He’s holed up in their rooms for once, not feeling up to the looks and whispers that accompany him and Derek whenever they go into the public areas. Stiles has gotten used to the various noises from the tower - mostly humming and the occasional boom from the labs - but the one that practically makes the whole room vibrate is new.

Grabbing onto the back of the couch in their living room, Stiles looks at Derek in alarm. “The fuck was that?”

The alpha shakes his head, looking around. “I don’t know. But there aren’t any alarms going off.”

There had been an Assemble call once since Stiles and Derek arrived, and hell if that thing wasn’t the most annoying alarm to ever exist. There was no reason for it to go off in their rooms, and _yet_. “I wouldn’t put it past Stark to have disabled every alarm but the unnecessary ones in here.”

Derek shakes his head, which means there aren’t alarms going off outside, either. With a huff, Stiles looks up at the ceiling. “Friday, what the hell was that?”

Just because he’s being the equivalent of an informational cockblock against the AI doesn’t mean he’s not above using it for his own purposes. So far, Stark hasn’t outright blocked him from using it, either.

“Thor has arrived back from Asgard.”

“Oh,” Stiles says faintly. Damn, is he glad he’s in his room and not in the common areas where there is now a _god_. “Thanks.”

Derek can hear his heartbeat shoot up, and gives him a concerned look. “You okay?”

No, he is absolutely not okay. He can handle the assassin, the super soldiers, even the Hulk, but a god? A _thunder_ god? Who is probably a thousand years old and could have an intimate knowledge of magic and how to work around his own? There is no universe where he is okay. Honestly, he hoped that he either noped out of here or at least got more Avengers on his side before the big guy who could squash him like a fly showed up.

He’s not going to say that though. Instead, Stiles nods, and Derek is not convinced, given the expression on his face. But they’ve gotten used to being under constant surveillance, and he doesn’t push the issue, going back to doing the dishes after their lunch. Although he really should be happy. Looks like their trips to the common room are done.

Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock on the door, and Stiles freezes again. Derek rolls his eyes, very used to Stiles’ employing what he calls the Jurassic Park Theory of _if I don’t move, they can’t see me_. It doesn’t matter if the person is on the other side of a closed door. “Friday? Who’s at the door?”

“Thor. He wishes to speak to Stiles.”

The last of the breath in Stiles’ lungs wheeze out at an alarmingly high pitch. When Derek goes to the door, Stiles tries to flail his way over the couch so he can make a mad dash for shelter in the bedroom, but he gets tangled in the blanket and ends up falling off the back with a thud.

“Christ,” Derek mutters before he opens the door. Stiles stays huddled behind the couch, barely breathing. So much for his break to the bedroom. “Hi.”

“Hello!” Stiles cringes because, oh god, Thor sounds so happy. It’s because he’s going to pound Stiles into the ground, he just _knows it_. “You must be Derek. If it’s not too much trouble, I would like to talk to you and Stiles.”

He considers texting the pack and his dad with a final farewell message, but Derek is around the couch and ripping the phone out of his hands before he can even unlock it. “Get up. We have a guest.”

Yeah, like Stiles didn’t try to backflip for style out of the living room _because_ of said guest. If Derek isn’t panicking, then either he’s ready to drop Stiles’ ass for good or there really isn’t any danger. Cautiously, Stiles pokes his head over the edge of the couch. Thor has come in and shut the door behind him, but what throws Stiles is that there’s no hammer in sight, and the god is wearing a _shirt and jeans_. They’re form fitting, showing off his literal godly physique, and his Avengers crush has just transferred from Hawkeye to Thor.

“Oh my god, you’re like Gap’s wet dream.” He groans as soon as the words are out of his mouth and drops back behind the couch, trying to smother himself with the blanket. There are chuckles from both sides of the room, so maybe his death isn’t as imminent as he thought, especially because he’s not having much luck with the blanket.

Stiles takes a deep breath, mans up, and pops up from behind the couch, hands on his hips. “Hi, I’m Stiles.”

“Thor Odinson,” he replies with a nod and small smile.

Stiles blinks because the man is a lot more soft spoken than he thought. Granted, most of the media clips he’s seen of Thor have been battle clips, and speaking from experience, people tended to yell a lot when they were fighting for their lives.

“Um, you said you wanted to speak to me?” Stiles asks, before the manners ingrained in him by many parents kick in and he spins in a complete circle in the living room going over all the available seating options. His textbooks look like they had an orgy and reproduced when he wasn’t looking. He lunges, pulling three off the nearest chair and tossing them to the floor. “Have a seat. Want something to drink? Eat?”

“Water, thank you.”

Stiles nods but when he turns to the kitchen, Derek already has two glasses in his hand. He places one in front of Stiles, and hands the other to Thor before hip-checking Stiles back onto the couch. Derek takes the seat between Stiles and Thor, and Stiles can’t help but relaxing a bit. His alpha is calm, but very aware of Stiles’ anxiety, running his hand down Stiles’ arm as he practically inhales half his drink. 

“First, I take it you have also managed your way around observation from the AI?”

He inhales the rest of his water and starts coughing, Derek patting him on the back while rolling his eyes. The _also_ there is what trips Stiles up, because it’s like he thought - Thor totally knows about magic, knows that he can do it, and knows that he can get around security cameras.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Thor says with a grin, finally taking a drink of his own water before placing it on the coffee table. “I thought as much, when Tony immediately complained when I asked after you. I commend you.”

Since he’s finally coughed up half a lung and can speak, Stiles looks at Thor cautiously. “So, not a bad thing?”

“I once fell prey to my own hubris, and although the outcome was favorable, the lesson was a hard one to learn.” With a nod to the corner, where Derek identified a camera the moment they got in the rooms, Thor gives him a small grin. “I think Tony would benefit from this lesson as well.”

Stiles glances to the corner. Sometimes the camera works, and sometimes it doesn’t. He’ll let it operate for the truly dull moments, and mostly when they’re not even in the room. Same goes for any video or audio recording when he’s in the vicinity. With a grin, Stiles turns back to Thor and says, “AKA I’m kicking his ego’s ass and you’re a fan.”

While Thor may speak quieter than expected, his laugh is just as loud as expected. “Very much so.” His laugh tapering off, Thor kept the grin on his face, but Stiles immediately felt the change in the mood. “But in the spirit of observation, I wish to tell you that I know more of you than the rest of my team.”

“Uh,” Stiles trails off, sharing a side-glance with Derek. “Because that’s not ominous at all?”

There could be a half-dozen things Thor could know. He obviously knows about the magic, and honestly, he can probably tell Derek’s a werewolf, and an alpha at that. The leap to him being the emissary isn’t that far, especially if Thor knows anything about pack structure. Stiles also couldn’t see the rest of the Avengers sitting idly by when finding out this information.

“I have not told them,” Thor assures him. “In fact, Heimdall was the one who informed me of your arrival in the Tower. I had duties to attend to on Asgard, but the moment I could, I returned to speak to you.”

After the Battle of New York, he brushed up on as much of his Norse mythology as possible. He knows about Heimdall, a god in his own right, and how he watches for Ragnarok, watching all the realms under Asgard. That _Stiles_ was watched by that person makes him nervous.

“And uh, is this a good thing?” Stiles’ knee begins to bounce up and down in nervousness, and really, he usually has a better control over his limbs when he’s anxious but it’s _fucking Thor_. Derek puts his hand on his knee and breathes deep, prompting Stiles to follow him. His breathing calms quickly, and it takes all his willpower not to start biting his nails.

“I think your presence here is a marvelous thing. I believe that no one would be better suited to help Sergeant Barnes, for I have never met someone who has survived a Void Spirit, much less lived and committed his life to helping other victims of similar situations.”

The hand on Stiles’ knee tightens, but Derek isn’t staring at Thor. He’s staring at Stiles in worry. Probably because his heart just started beating so fast it actually hurts. He and Thor are staring each other down, but nothing about Thor’s body language screams battle-ready like every other Avenger he’s come in contact with. He’s open, relaxed, and the expression on his face is understanding, like he knows he just dropped a bomb and is waiting for Stiles to catch his breath.

Stiles inhales sharply, because oh, apparently he wasn’t doing that at all, and tries to calm down. He’s not sure what’s freaking him out more - the reminder of the nogitsune or Thor _knowing_ about his possession. He’s allowed to lose his calm over this, though. It’s the second worst thing to ever happen to him in his life, preceded only by watching his mother die right before him.

Derek pulls him closer and Stiles just takes a moment to close his eyes and get his bearings.

“I was joyed that someone with your understanding agreed to help the Sergeant,” Thor begins softly, “but Heimdall informed me of your cold reception by my team. He also told me you did not share your personal experiences.”

He doesn’t exactly feel grounded at the moment, but he opens his eyes and meets Thor’s gaze, ready to defend his choices, but there’s no need. “The reasons for this secret are your own, and I will keep them unless you give me your express permission to speak of them. I just wish to apologize on behalf of my team. You have given up much to help, and have not received the recognition you deserve.”

Stiles starts shaking his head, and has to clear his throat before he can speak properly. “I don’t deserve recognition.”

Thor looks surprised, eyebrows raised. “No? Heimdall informed me you are well-known in your circles, and that you have calmed hundreds, if not thousands of people through the years. At the same time, you are bettering yourself to better others. I believe this is very commendable, and not worthy of the treatment you’ve received.”

This whole conversation is throwing Stiles for a loop. Derek’s said all of this to him, of course, but for Thor to say the same at their first meeting is huge. It’s already stuff he knows in his head, and he’s heard it before, but this is still different.

So Stiles swallows tightly, nods, and says, “Thank you.” Thor nods in return and sits back in his chair. “And you really don’t need to apologize. You just got here, and to be fair, if I had been in their positions, I would have been just as horrible.”

“Perhaps,” Thor says, “But the situations are not reversed. Even though they do not have the entire picture, they have not asked about your experiences or made any effort to work with you. Age is but a number, and as Heimdall told me, you experienced more than most humans have in their entire lifetimes when you were but a child.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Stiles mutters under his breath. Calmer now, he sits up, not leaning on Derek as much. “Again, I’ve been provoking them. Probably not doing a good job showing them I’m a mature adult who can help.”

Thor chuckles. “And as my lightning sister Darcy would say, _they started it_.” That makes both Derek and Stiles snicker. “She and my dear Jane are joining me here tomorrow. I think you will enjoy their company. We are planning on having dinner tomorrow night, and I would like to invite you both.”

He knows about Dr. Foster, but he’s never heard of the other woman - Darcy. But so far, Thor has been the best person here, and he’s only known the guy for about fifteen minutes. Clint was nice when they arrived, but he hasn’t spoken to the other Avenger since that first day other than greetings and small talk, and even that is barely polite.

As it is, the only thing he has planned tomorrow is going to Columbia for his hours at the college for a class and to spend time in the labs there. Having someone else cook dinner might be nice for once. He and Derek don’t accept the deliverable groceries or the foods prepared by the staff employed in the tower. They don’t like eating food where they can’t see it prepared, or know who is preparing it, unless it’s a supernatural-friendly establishment with anti-tampering wards and know how to handle food for supernatural creatures. There are a surprising amount of places in New York City that accommodate, but they don’t deliver.

Stiles looks at Derek, who nods. So with a grin, he turns back to Thor. “We’d love to. And we’d be happy to help with anything, as well. We’ve been making our meals anyway, so it would be no problem.”

“I shall ask,” he says. “Now, it has been some time since I’ve been around a pack, and even longer with one of your power. I would be happy to hear any tales you wish to tell. How did you come to grow such a close bond? How did you first meet?”

Derek rolls his eyes, because Stiles starts vibrating in his seat, all nervousness and worry gone. Their connection is close, yes, but it certainly didn’t start that way. So many people who encounter them believe that they were always destined for a romance of the ages, and he absolutely loves destroying their dreams. “I accused him of murder and my dad arrested him.”

The surprised look on Thor’s face is priceless. Stiles throws his head back and cackles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Stiles are bros, yo. It's going to get better, too. Just wait.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek come over for dinner at Thor's. They meet Darcy and Jane. It goes VERY well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovely readers. I know it feels like the world is falling down around us. I work in health care. Trust me. I get it. We need happy in our lives. While there are some heavy discussions in this chapter, I hope this makes you laugh and you enjoy reading.

Before Thor left, he asked Stiles and Derek for their cell phone number. He admitted that he did have a phone but never used it. Most of the time, he would borrow phones off others to communicate. Stiles happily handed the numbers over. 

Halfway into his hours in the labs at the PTSD Research Center at Columbia, he gets a text from an unknown number. Being who he is, he gets a lot of calls and texts from numbers he doesn’t know, which makes screening calls from telemarketers and scammers a bitch, but he’s never gotten a text name-dropping a god before.

_Yo, got your digits from Thor. It’s Darcy. We’re having a shit ton of meat, roast veggies, and carbs for days for dinner tonight. He said you’d bring something. Maybe dessert? We could probably use something sweet if we’re not all giving birth to our food babies after eating._

Stiles immediately takes a screencap and sends it to Derek, who is at the park right next to the research center. The reply takes a moment. Derek types something, deletes it, types something else, and deletes that. Finally, he comes back with one word:

 _No_.

He frowns. Does Derek not want to do dinner anymore? Before he can fire off a response, Derek sends him another text.

_There are not two of you in this world._

Stiles just barely contains his snickers, considering he’s in a quiet room surrounded by groups of people he highly respects. He allows himself one small victory arm wiggle before flipping back to the text conversation with Darcy. After adding her to his contacts, he sends back a reply.

_So done. How much should I make on a scale of bring on the stretchy pants to I have made all the wrong choices in life?_

Darcy’s reply comes back immediately and Stiles has to bite his lip to hold back the laughter. She sent back a GIF of Leslie Knope from Parks and Recreation saying, _Everything hurts and I’m dying_.

Even though he really needs to get back to work, especially if he wants to leave a little early to run by a grocery store to pick up the ingredients for dessert, he can’t _not_ reply. Especially when he has the perfect image to send back. So he searches his phone for the picture of the Overly Attached Girlfriend meme that has the caption, _We’re going to be best friends, for ever and ever and ever_ and hits send.

One of the professors that Stiles is working closely with walks in the room, and Stiles immediately shoves his phone back into his pocket. He doesn’t know what Darcy’s response is, but his phone vibrates like crazy. He can’t keep the grin off his face. His conversation with Thor and his texts with Darcy have been a bright spot in a dark period. Leaving Ithaca was hard, but even if he doesn’t work with Barnes, making friends with Thor and Darcy makes up for it.

The rest of his time in the PTSD Research Center passes quickly. He really enjoys the work and learning more from some of the most respected names in PTSD research and theory. After working with his last client, he promises to be back the following Tuesday, since he has to turn in assignments to another professor anyway, then heads out with a spring in his step. Derek’s waiting for him at the entrance like usual, and rolls his eyes at the overjoyed expression on Stiles’ face.

Once in the grocery store, he decides to make something simple. The dessert shouldn’t be too rich or sweet, because they don’t need something heavy after the huge meal. He may hate New York City on principle, but they have so many food options that he goes slightly overboard with his dessert choices.

Stone Fruit Eton Mess is super quick, but he doesn’t know if everyone would like the plums and nectarines. So he decides to also do chocolate-hazelnut-banana finger sandwiches. But then he knows that some people don’t like nutella, so he decides to also add a third option. Vanilla ice cream and bourbon caramel sounds good, and he grabs some pineapples to broil and add at the last minute. The desserts are fruit-heavy, but he wanted something light and he’s hardwired his brain to always cook healthy anyway. As much as his bourbon caramel can be healthy, which isn’t a lot. Eh, it’s the thought that counts.

“This is way too much,” Derek tells him as he hauls multiple bags out of the grocery store. Stiles’ backpack is stuffed full of items, too.

“Yeah, right. You have me, you, and Thor to feed. Plus, I know all about your love affair with all things fruit. You’re barely holding back spearing that pineapple and swallowing it whole.”

Derek huffs, but doesn’t deny it.

All the desserts are super quick to make, even though he has three different recipes to start. Making the bourbon caramel takes the longest, and mostly that’s because he can’t choose between all the damn bourbons at the bar in the lounge. Finally Derek hunts him down, grabs the first bottle he sees, and drags Stiles back to their rooms.

An hour later, they’re standing in front of Thor’s rooms, and even though his arms are laden down with two dessert trays and two bags of various things to finish the desserts, Derek still knocks without dropping a thing. Stiles is carrying the two gallons of vanilla ice cream, the package of cookies to crumble on top of the Eton Mess, and a tightly sealed container with the cut up pineapple inside. Derek wouldn’t trust him with anything else.

Stiles doesn’t recognize the woman who answers the door. She looks at them, pouts, and steps back so they can enter. “Why the hell are all the pretty ones gay and taken?”

“Christ,” Derek mutters, stepping past Stiles and into the room so he can put down his items. Sadly, it’s not the first time Derek’s heard that. Stiles follows him at a slower pace, hanging back while the woman he suspects is Darcy closes the door.

“For the record, we’re both bi.”

She actually stomps her foot and takes the bag with the container of pineapple. “Yeah, but my life isn’t a fanfiction.”

He follows her into the apartment properly, glancing to the kitchen where Derek has put down his items and is giving Thor a handshake before Dr. Foster also offers her hand. “Uh, your BFF is Thor. How is your life not a fanfiction?”

Darcy makes a face. “No, my BFF is _dating_ Thor. Which means my fanfiction life would be a green G. A yellow T if I’m lucky.”

Stiles sympathizes. “Instead of the orange M or red E you really want?” She doesn’t reply, but holds out a fist. He bumps it with his free hand. “At least no archive warnings apply?”

This time, Darcy rolls her eyes and gestures him forward. “God, I wish. More like _creator chose not to use archive warnings_ but didn’t tag everything properly because apparently it was _let’s be a dick day_ when the work got posted.”

He laughs and follows, putting the rest of the items down next to the rest. Derek already put the refrigerated items up, so Darcy hands him the ice cream. Thor and Dr. Foster join them for introductions.

“Stiles, this is my lovely Jane. And this is the man that has been hired to help the Sergeant.”

He holds out his hand with a grin. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Foster.”

“Oh,” She looks a bit flustered, but returns his smile with one of her own. “Please, it’s just Jane. And thanks for the dessert.”

“My pleasure,” he replies. “I enjoy cooking, but thanks for making the meal for us and inviting us over. It’s nice to talk to actual people besides my professors and clients.”

Stiles and Derek both move out of the way so that the other three can get around the kitchen easier. Darcy ends up joining them to watch Thor and Jane. “Yeah, Thor told us how everyone else was a bag of dicks to you.”

He sighs. “If the situations were reversed, I’d have been a dick, too, and I gave as good as I got after that.”

“Yes, but you also have friends and family who would have talked to you about it, and then we would have worked together to help,” Derek tells him firmly. It’s an argument they’ve had every other day since arriving. “If things are as bad as you were told in the beginning, then they should be making an effort.”

Groaning, Stiles fully faces Derek. “And just because I was bullied into coming here doesn’t mean that he’s ready to talk. Forcing him to work through his trauma when he’s not ready is counterproductive.”

“How do you know he’s not ready to talk? You haven’t seen him since we first got here, and even then, they all dismissed you.” Derek raises his eyebrows when Stiles just glares at him.

“What kind of doctor are you?” Jane asks, looking up from the pan Thor pulled from the oven effectively cutting off the argument before it really gets started.

Stiles gets a weird feeling of deja vu, but Jane sounds curious instead of accusing like Stark had. “Not a doctor.” Before Derek or even Thor can protest, he continues. “But I _am_ going through my doctorate studies. I’m just not aiming to open a clinical psychology clinic at the end.”

When she just nods and continues with her task, Stiles blinks in surprise. He even looks at Derek to make sure the alpha saw her response. That is… not typical. Before he does something truly embarrassing, like ask if Derek saw that happen, too, she continues. “What’s your field of study?” 

He’s a little thrown, but manages to stutter out an answer. “Cognitive sciences. Specifically, environmental perception, post-traumatic cognitions, and trauma coping self-efficacy in people with PTSD. I’m building off my masters, which was in forensic mental health.”

“Shit, dude,” Darcy blurts, looking at him as she pauses in trying to sneak a vegetable out of the bowl Jane’s been spooning them into. Jane uses the time to slap Darcy’s hand away. “You’re, like, smart.”

He laughs. “I get that a lot. Seriously.”

Darcy manages to snatch a carrot and stares at him while she munches on it. “So what does that whole spiel mean for someone who got a degree in political science because all the other sciences involved too much math?”

Derek snorts. “She sounds like you.”

“Hey, math is Satan, okay?” Stiles snaps, sticking his tongue out before turning back to Darcy. “So basically, I’m breaking down my studies into three sections. The first is environmental perception. Environmental information comes from all five senses. For someone diagnosed with PTSD, the environment can make or break stability during stress responses. The environment can _be_ the cause of a stress response.”

“Like fireworks on the fourth of July?” Darcy asks.

He nods. “Exactly. There’s a reason why some fireworks are called mortar rounds. They sound extremely similar to the real thing. It’s the echo. But it’s not all things that are that obvious. I worked with a soldier just this week who couldn’t do his own laundry. The sound of the washing machine triggered him, and it’s not something that he could control. If someone doesn’t feel in control in the environment, even if they are, an immediate stress response can be triggered. A lot of times, you can’t change the environment, so it’s easier to change how you _perceive_ the environment. Like I said, the body uses input from all five senses in environmental perception. There are a lot of different ways to do it. Most people think only sounds can trigger an episode, but our other senses are often stronger and give more trouble to individuals with PTSD.”

Stiles comes out of his lecture mode when he feels all eyes on him. He hopes he’s not blushing too hard as he clears his throat. “Sorry.”

“Oh my god, no,” Jane says, shoving the spoon at Thor. “You can finish that, can’t you?” She doesn’t wait for an answer before moving around to the living area, grabbing Stiles’ arm and dragging him with her. “I want to hear more. This is so fascinating.”

“Um,” Stiles says, looking over his shoulder to Derek in a bit of a panic. He’s never had this reaction before. He did online work before he really knew all the science behind it, when he had just lived the horror of PTSD and needed help just as much as he wanted to help others. Sure, since his first paper was published, he got a lot more recognition, but the people who are truly interested in his work have read all the papers he’s read, peer-reviewed the same studies. Stiles has never had someone in a completely different field be so interested in his work. It makes him a bit giddy, and also thrown off balance a bit.

Derek nods at him encouragingly and moves to help Thor in the kitchen. Darcy followed him and Jane with an amused grin on her face, sitting next to Jane and eating her stolen veggies. Shaking himself out of the stupor, Stiles puts on what Scott calls his professor face, and continues.

“Right, well that’s environmental perception. Or a really small part of it. Next is post-traumatic cognition. There have been studies that confirm the link between PTSD and cognitive impairment, which is huge. Usually when there’s cognitive impairment, it’s related to TBIs.”

Darcy raises her hand. “TBI?”

“Traumatic brain injuries. Car accidents, slips and falls, drownings, etc.,” he elaborates. “I mean, it’s a movie trope. Romantic interests get a bump on the head somehow and forgets the last two years of their lives. The real problem is so much broader than that. The bottom line is _any_ sort of trauma can affect the brain, not just physical, and we don’t know all those ways yet. And there are so many other factors, too. Does the individual smoke? Drink? Have heart issues? Have a family history of dementia or Alzheimer’s? We don’t even understand _those_ diseases yet, but there are studies that show veterans with PTSD have a higher chance of developing dementia later in life.”

The more Stiles talks, the faster he gets, and he really does try to slow himself down. Darcy is blinking at him, looking just as lost as the pack when he gets on a roll, but Jane is nodding along, staring at him intently. 

“And PTSD can impair cognition just as severely as neurotoxins or infections?” Jane asks. He wants to punch the air, because _oh my god_ , _yes, someone gets it_.

“As badly as a stroke or other diseases that can affect the brain,” he confirms. “There was a study done in the late 90’s at Stanford that likened PTSD to fear conditioning. I’m talking about actual life-debilitating phobias. The entire fear network in the brain gets scrambled and ramped up.”

Jane looks just as surprised as he had when he first read the study. It was one of the first scholarly articles that he ever read, and if he’s honest, it did factor heavily into his decision to go to Stanford for his Bachelor’s. He wanted to stay somewhat close to home, just because their pack was so new and the bonds were still forming. He also liked Stanford for their interdisciplinary studies program, but reading that article really did change his outlook on PTSD.

“So you have a lack of control in the environment and an overload of all five senses. That much input is sent to an already impaired neural center. You just can’t process. The very world around you becomes unstable, and your stress responses go haywire. For those who were in combat, it can be dangerous, because suddenly it’s life or death all over again, and they can’t tell where or when they are.”

Darcy and Jane sit back, although Jane seems to have understood his crazy, roundabout explanation. It feels so _good_ to talk about this with someone _not_ already in the field, to explain how important he feels this work is to people everywhere, and have them actually agree.

“Which leads me to the third part. Trauma-coping self-efficacy. You have all this crazy shit,” Stiles makes a face. He was doing so well watching his mouth, too. “Sorry, _stuff_ , happening in your brain.”

“God, how do people _live_ with it?” Darcy asks, looking a little overwhelmed.

Stiles shrugs. “An average of 20 veterans commit suicide every day. 18% of adult suicides in the U.S. are committed by veterans, and veterans are over 20% more likely to commit suicide than a civilian. That doesn’t even take into consideration individuals who didn’t see combat, but experienced trauma, from terrorist events or abuse at the hands of friends or family. PTSD and suicide are very closely linked, even after you remove comorbid disorders, anxiety disorders, and experiences in combat in veterans. A lot of people with PTSD can’t, or don’t think they _can_ live with it.”

“Jesus,” Darcy says faintly. Jane also looks disturbed at the information.

“Yeah, so that’s one of the reasons why I’m working in this field. Not just for veterans, but they’re still a big part of the studies and therapies I’m doing right now. It’s learning how to get your life back when you feel like the world chewed you up and spit you out off a cliff onto jagged rocks over and over.”

Darcy stands up, shaking her head. “You guys continue on. I either need chocolate or alcohol to hear any more.”

“My desserts have both!” Stiles calls after her before turning back to Jane.

“So what are the ways to cope with PTSD?” she asks.

Stiles falls into the core of his studies, which is coping with the trauma. He gets a little more technical with the terms, especially the medical terminology, but only has to explain a few things to Jane. One of the biggest cores he works with is supernatural and preternatural-based PTSD, because logic usually helps with coping skills, but not when aliens coming out of the sky is the basis of the trauma.

He doesn’t know how long he and Jane talk through the skills, circling back to the environment and cognition portions of his studies, but Derek eventually sits next to him and begins to rub his shoulder and arm. Stiles gives him a quick smile before continuing on. One of the times Derek rubs his arm, he continues down to his hand and places a piece of food in his hand. Stiles eats without pausing for breath, swallowing quickly so he isn’t rude and eating and talking at the same time.

It gets harder and harder as he keeps eating, and finally he blinks, pausing mid-sentence to turn to Derek, because he’s chewing more than he’s talking at this point. The bowl of roasted vegetables and meat Derek’s holding is almost empty. Derek raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh, is dinner ready?”

“Holy _shit_ ,” Darcy exclaims. Stiles blinks in surprise, turning towards the kitchen, where Darcy is staring at him in shock.

“What?”

“Dude,” she drawls, gaze flicking between Derek and Stiles. “You have to teach me how to do that.”

Stiles looks at Derek, still confused. “ _What_?”

His alpha smirks, standing up with the bowl still in his hand. “I don’t think you and Jane have the type of relationship that contributes to the positive reinforcement that made him learn that particular trick.”

“Oh my god, _what_ are you talking about?” Stiles flails.

“Nothing,” Derek tells him, leaning down to give him a kiss. “Yes, dinner is ready. What do you want to drink?”

“How about water since it’s less confusing than you?” Stiles snarks back. Derek snorts and doesn’t even bother replying as he heads back to the kitchen. To be fair, it was a pretty weak-ass retort. Stiles is off his game.

Thor walks over and offers a hand to Jane. “Perhaps you can continue your conversation after dinner.” When he helps her stand, Stiles crosses his arms and pouts at Derek.

“You’re a terrible boyfriend.”

Derek replies by throwing a water bottle at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said earlier, I work in health care. Specifically, I work with individuals with PTSD, TBIs, mental health, and intellectual disabilities. I also have family members who are veterans and have let me talk about these issues with them. Even though I know they'll _never_ see this, thank you. To my friends who are veterans and/or have PTSD and let me talk to them, thank you as well. 
> 
> I also have links for everyone, because I threw out a lot of facts and I want you to know I did the research. A lot of these are medical journals or articles that can't be completely read. I had access to them (thank you, job) but even the abstracts are pretty interesting. 
> 
> National Suicide Prevention Lifeline Website is linked [here](https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/).  
> Link to the snapshot of the original study on PTSD and fear conditioning is [here](https://www.biologicalpsychiatryjournal.com/article/0006-3223\(92\)90113-E/pdf)  
> Links on environmental perceptions, control/avoidance, TBI, trauma coping, dementia, etc.:  
> [1](https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2933793/), [2](https://www.alzheimers.net/delayed-onset-ptsd-and-dementia/), [3](https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC6088525/), [4](https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/articles/199711/predisposed-ptsd), [5](https://psycnet.apa.org/record/2016-49327-001), [6](https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC6161595/), [7](https://www.cnn.com/2019/01/30/health/mild-traumatic-brain-injury-ptsd-depression-study/index.html)  
> Statistics on Veterans, PTSD, and Suicide found here:  
> [1](https://www.ptsd.va.gov/publications/rq_docs/V28N4.pdf), [ 2](https://www.everydayhealth.com/ptsd/military-statistics-causes-treatment-more/), [3](https://www.verywellmind.com/rates-of-ptsd-in-veterans-2797430), [4 ](https://veteransandptsd.com/PTSD-statistics.html), [ 5](https://www.ptsd.va.gov/understand/related/suicide_ptsd.asp), [6](https://www.ptsd.va.gov/professional/treat/cooccurring/suicide_ptsd.asp), [7](https://afsp.org/about-suicide/suicide-statistics/)


	6. Nothing Left to Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise visitor helps the team realize how awesome Stiles is. The explanation comes at a cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay everyone. I hope you're all safe and healthy. Thank you again for your support, especially on the last chapter. I'm glad everyone liked the information along with the fun meeting. That being said, this chapter deviates a bit. There's heavy discussions about assisted suicide that may be triggering. Look at the updated tags as well. If you're truly worried, skip to the end once Stiles states his age. There's a small summary in the end notes so you don't miss plot. 
> 
> I also want to stress that this chapter ends on an emotional cliffhanger. I know that some people may not want to read that at this time. I cried when I wrote the chapter. People cried when they beta read it. If you don't think it's a good idea to read it now, that's okay! Chapter Seven will be up next week and resolves a lot. Do whatever protects you, lovelies. This chapter will still be here for you to read when you're able. 
> 
> Unlike previous chapters, this title is inspired by an instrumental song I had on repeat while I wrote this. It's called Nothing Left to Lose by Sean Redmond. It's beautiful and give it a listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GKm79BUVWgg).

Stiles hasn’t been outright avoiding being at the Tower, but he hasn’t made much of an effort to stay there. He picked up extra hours at the PTSD Research Center, working with more clients and learning as much as possible from the professionals at Columbia. When he and Derek _are_ at the tower, they’re either alone in their rooms, or hanging with Thor or Darcy. Jane gets sucked into her research, which Stiles can relate to, and he doesn’t like disturbing her. They’ve had dinner together three times since he first met Thor.

After one of his extra shifts at the center, Stiles and Derek are on their way up in the elevator to the floor their apartment was on, when a soft chime echoes, and Friday’s voice filled the silence.

“Continuing to Penthouse. There’s a guest who would like to meet you both.”

He doesn’t bother hiding his groan, and almost asks if he really has to. Derek is normally the level-headed one, but even he looks ready to punch whoever this guest is. They both sigh as their floor is passed and the numbers on the digital screen continue to rise.

“Hope for Thor, prepare for Stark,” Stiles mutters, trying to give himself a last-minute pep talk. “Because this is somehow my life.”

Of course, all the Avengers are gathered, and Stiles is surprised to see Jane and Darcy there, too. Darcy salutes him and goes back to eating the bowl of cereal she’s holding. He looks over everyone else gathered as he walks over to her, dumping his heavy backpack next to her barstool. He saves the worst for last, meaning Barnes and Rogers. And it’s by the scowling duo that he finally spots this guest, blinking to make sure he isn’t seeing things.

Nope. The Falcon is standing next to the Surly Twins, arms crossed and a wide smile on his face. He’s seen the man in the media, running small missions mostly with Rogers, but after Sokovia, he became part of the Avengers. During the contract signing, Stiles was told that most of the Avengers would be at the new training compound a few hours away, and that since Barnes was at the Tower, limited Avengers personnel were allowed.

“Holy shit,” he says lightly, a faint grin forming as he walks towards the center of the room. “What the hell are you doing here, dude? I thought you were at the compound upstate?”

Stiles hadn’t even considered running into him. He didn’t even think that the man remembered him very well, given when they were introduced. Washington D.C. after the Hydra reveal and SHIELD fell was chaos, but they still managed to cross paths quite a few times.

Sam moves forward to shake his hand. “Yeah, man, but I thought I’d swing by when I heard you were hanging around. You’re a hard dude to track down. I’m glad someone finally did.” He looks over Stiles’ shoulder. “Hey, Derek.”

“Hi, Sam,” Derek replies, coming up to shake his hand as well.

“Wait,” Rogers says, eyes darting back and forth between him and Sam. “You two know each other?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sam tells him, sounding anything but as he gives him an unimpressed look. “Did you expect me to take your side in this beatdown?”

Rogers’ jaw works open a few times but no sound comes out. Everyone else seems just as surprised at their familiarity. Stiles gives himself another mental point.

Stark helpfully supplies, “I think that’s a yes.”

“Man, you have no idea who he is, do you?” Sam asks, glaring not only at Rogers, but the rest of the group.

“Ooh!” Darcy says excitedly, gesturing between her and Jane. “We do! He told us over dinner. Dude’s like a genius.”

Stiles gives her an indulgent grin before facing the rest of the Avengers, aka his firing squad. Stark is the first to recover, because of course, and he looks suspiciously between Stiles, Derek, and Sam. “You said you’re not a doctor.”

He doesn’t bother holding back the smirk when Sam immediately rolls his eyes with a sigh. “I thought it was going to be bad when Steve called, but damn. I’m going to have to break out the small words.”

Barely holding back a joke about making popcorn, Stiles loosens his shoulders and tries to relax his body language. He has a feeling where this is going, and he’s going to attempt to tone down his defensiveness. Thor is in his corner, as are Jane and Darcy, so he’s not completely alone. Derek steps up behind him, firmly running a hand down his back. He snorts when he hears Darcy’s _awww_ behind them.

“Steve, remember after that Ultron business, and you and Barnes reconnected, and you asked me for someone who could help?” Sam gets an unimpressed expression out of Rogers, but ignores it and continues on. “And I told you that I had a guy in mind, but I couldn’t find any contact information?”

Sam gestures to Stiles, and he can’t help but give Rogers a mock salute - completely wrong and sloppy on purpose - just to see his eye twitch. Derek pinches the skin between his shoulder blades, making him twitch, but he gets the _behave_ message.

“Him?” Rogers says in disbelief. “That was a year ago.”

His tone doesn’t dissuade Sam, though. “Yeah. Also remember when you commented on how well SHIELD handled the aftermath of Sokovia? For all the victims? And I told you that it was based off of work of a group of specialists that came to D.C.?” Sam gestures to Stiles again, but this time he doesn’t do anything cutesy in return. “This guy was in the middle of it, and without him, we wouldn’t even have those plans.”

 _Everyone_ looks shocked at that. His and Derek’s involvement in D.C. - hell, even the off-hand work they did for New York and Sokovia - hasn’t come up in any conversation, even with Thor.

“He and Derek both were in D.C. at least twelve hours after it went down. Derek is a medical first responder, and I swear he pulled half the bodies from the wreckage himself. Trust me, I watched the dude go into some of the most unstable environments, risking his own life to save others’. And Stiles here ran himself into the ground helping with the survivors, getting them set up with and working at trauma stations. I know for a fact he didn’t sleep for nearly three days after he got there, and even after being forced onto a cot, he only got maybe five hours of sleep before doing it all again.”

Stiles holds back a wince, because _yeah_ , that was a rough time. He survived on coffee and Adderall, focusing on helping one person after the other until another medical provider threatened to strap him to a gurney if he didn’t rest. He and Derek were both exhausted, but stayed for almost three weeks. Not only did they help the survivors, they coordinated with local packs and other supernatural covens to help where they could. New forums went up and people all over the globe came together to help, because the damage wasn’t just in D.C.

The tension in the room is different, and Stiles doesn’t feel like he’s about to get shot in the face like he normally does when everyone is gathered in the same space. The Black Widow is the first to speak after Sam’s speech, gaze steady as she looks Stiles over. “If you’re not a doctor, then what are you?”

Once again, Stiles holds back the urge to be an overbearing smartass, and answers her honestly. “I’m a student.”

Sam is the first one to give him a strange look for that answer, and Stiles doesn’t like having that _done with your shit_ expression aimed at him. Eyebrows rising, Sam gestures for him to continue. “Oh, a student? Really? I guess I’m going to have to work this both ways.”

He groans. “Sam--”

“Nope. We’re going to start at the beginning, and we’re going to have a repeat of that night in the med tent when we exchanged college horror stories.”

Darcy wolf-whistles then grunts when Jane punches her in the shoulder. Everyone else ignores her and all eyes are still on him as he and Sam face off.

“Let’s start from the top. High school.”

Resigned to the fact that he’s going to give a room full of actual superheroes his educational history, Stiles rubs his forehead with a sigh. He can feel a headache coming on. “Graduated salutatorian from a small town in California.” He gets another pinch from Derek for the incomplete answer. Stiles knows what Sam’s aiming for, as does Derek, and Stiles slaps at his alpha without even looking. “And between my junior and senior year, I went through a Certification in Integrated Mental Health.”

“Undergrad,” Sam states, giving him an expectant look.

“Bachelor of Science in Interdisciplinary Studies of Anthropology, Psychology, and Sociology,” Stiles recites dutifully. He should have known Sam wouldn’t let him get away with just that, though.

“From?”

Sighing, Stiles rolls his neck to look up at the ceiling, feeling a lot like he’s being scolded. For going to college. “Stanford.”

“Which, for those of you people who aren’t normal and don’t know about college, is one of the top five universities in the _world_.” After making eye contact with almost everyone in the room, Sam glares at Stiles, which is totally unwarranted, thank you very much. “And how long did it take you?”

“Just over three years.”

“Versus the typical four it takes most students,” Sam continues for him. “Next?”

Stiles really wants to argue, because he doesn’t think this is necessary, but it is kinda his fault for keeping his personal information, which included his educational history, locked down so no one could see it. If he had known that he’d get a scolding from Sam, he would have printed off every paper he ever wrote from his freshman year in high school up and shoved it at everyone the moment he stepped inside the tower to avoid it.

“I became a Certified Trauma Services Specialist, and then during my first semester of my Master’s, I doubled up and became a Certified Trauma Treatment Specialist.”

The expressions on the faces of everyone in the room are moving slowly from suspicion to fascination. He feels like a specimen in a jar. Squirming back and leaning on Derek a bit more, he waits for Sam to prompt him, because now he feels like being petty. Given the epic eye-rolling he gets for pouting, he knows Sam is very much aware of what he’s doing.

“Speaking of your Master’s degree, what’s that in again?”

“Forensic Mental Health.” Before Derek can move to pinch him again, because he can _feel_ the alpha’s arm move, Stiles continues. “And after that year and a half, I became a Certified Clinical Trauma Professional.”

He had just finished his Master’s degree when SHIELD fell, and if anything, that experience proved to him that he was on the right track, and that he was doing exactly what he should be doing. He was good at it, he loved it, and he was needed. When he started at Cornell, Stiles dove in with a passion he hadn’t felt since he was gearing up for his undergraduate senior thesis.

Sam looks way too smug about the whole ordeal, especially since it’s _Stiles’_ history. “And now?”

“Well, I _was_ working on my PhD in Psychology in Cognitive Sciences from Cornell, but since I’m here, I worked it out so that I’m able to take classes at Columbia, and work in their PTSD Research Center. The labs and classes will still go toward my doctorate.”

“Right, right,” he says casually. “And remind me what your focus is again? It’s slipped my mind.”

“Bullshit,” Stiles says, not even bothering to cover his irritation.

“No, I don’t think that’s it, although you are pretty good at it.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Environmental perception, post-traumatic cognitions, and trauma coping self-efficacy in individuals with post traumatic stress disorder.”

Sam spreads his arms and looks like he managed to herd all his ducklings into a neat row, just like he wanted. “Was that so hard?”

“Fuck off,” Stiles deadpans. Sam laughs and ignores him, which is typical for his life. He takes a deep breath, feeling like he was put through the lightning round for a debate team, even though he knew all the questions he was getting. For the first time since he arrived, everyone in the room looks at him without contempt, and yeah, he’s grateful for Sam, even if the experience was like pulling teeth.

“Pretty good for a kid who _obviously_ doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about, right?” Sam asks, and Stiles glares at Rogers, because really? He had to go there? That comment was way too pointed to not be a direct quote.

The Captain _does_ look grudgingly impressed, but Stiles can tell he’s not properly swayed. “School is great and all, but reading books doesn't equal experience.”

It’s not the first time Stiles has heard that, especially from a vet because that’s been a common theme from the men and women he treats who were in the service. Sometimes he goes into a few details about his own life, shows them how fighting for your life can happen at home, too. Sometimes it’s not a good fit and they’ll part ways.

But right now, the statement makes him angrier than normal. This whole situation hits too close to home, because he has history here. There’s a reason he doesn’t work closely with his friends or family. Stiles is horrible about keeping emotional distance, and he really did think he could handle it, especially after the abysmal welcome he got. This, though, makes his blood boil. Unlike earlier, when Stiles took a deep breath of relief, he takes one now to ready himself, because those were fighting words, and Stiles has always given as good as he got.

“Well, does living with PTSD for the past 18 years count as _experience_?” he snaps sarcastically.

The room goes completely still, with Rogers and him locked in a staring contest. Stiles can feel his anger slip through his shields. He’s probably hitting most of the pack with it, although Lydia and Scott would feel it the most. Sure enough, his phone and Derek’s start vibrating immediately. He doesn’t make a move, but Derek pulls his out and sends a text.

Dr. Banner had been in the back, and out of everyone, has been the most cordial purely by never crossing paths with Stiles, even in the early Avenger babysitting days. He looks concerned as he takes a step forward. “And how old are you now?”

Stiles clenches his jaw, because they’re moving dangerously into territory that he doesn’t want to venture close to. He knew he was going to have to keep the nogitsune a secret, that Avengers business couldn’t be allowed to cross into the supernatural world, but Stiles never thought he would have to protect against _this._

“26,” he answers.

Even Sam looks surprised, but he quickly reigns it in, and can probably sense how this is clearly a topic Stiles doesn’t want to go into. But even as he wants to walk out, to say to hell with this conversation and quite possibly his contract, Stiles _can’t_. A core part of him is determined to see this through, even if he loses a bit of himself in the process. It’s not that he has something to prove to them, it’s that he needs to prove this to himself, and he won’t let them ruin where he is.

“You were eight?” Clint asks in surprise, speaking up for the first time since Stiles walked in.

He’s going to have nightmares tonight. He always does when he talks about what happened to his mother. He’s also going to have to call his dad, contract be damned, because he needs to hear his parent’s voice in his ear after this.

A part of his brain shifts, his face going blank and his voice losing all emotion. It’s his own way of coping as he tells about the worst time in his life. Derek presses his entire body against Stiles’ back, but it’s not enough. The numbness presses in, and only his desire to be _away_ pushes the words out of his mouth. The sooner he gets through this, the sooner he can be alone.

“When I was six, my mother was diagnosed with Frontotemporal Dementia, which is caused by nerve cells in the brain becoming damaged and failing. There is no cure, and all you can do is make the person comfortable as the brain and body withers away. More specifically, she had Behavioral Variant Frontotemporal Dementia, which means the nerve cells lost are located in the areas of the brain that control behavior, judgment, and empathy.”

He has to take a moment to swallow, his throat dry as he struggles to keep his body and mind in check. “The episodes weren’t too bad at first, at least for the first year. But they got progressively worse very quickly, and for some reason, they were focused on me.”

Dr. Banner pulls his glasses off, rubbing his forehead as he turns to the side. Yeah, Stiles figures he knew where this is going, at least partially. No one ever guesses the punch line correctly.

“She would read me bedtime stories when I was a kid, all sorts of fairy tales. They weren’t typical things you’d tell a kid before bed, but I had a wild imagination and she loved sharing those with me. Only when she hallucinated, she thought the stories were real. She believed I was a monster, that some horrible creature ate her kid and stole his body. She told me I had no soul, and she would turn violent. She once tried to scratch out my eyes. My dad had to restrain her.”

He’s not surprised that no one is looking at him, except Barnes meets his gaze head on. Once their gazes lock, Stiles can’t look away. There’s no expression on his face either, and that makes it easier to keep going. He can’t stand pitying or sympathetic looks. Barnes looks emotionally dead as Stiles feels, like he’s watching a weather forecast instead of a man breaking down in front of him.

“She was in and out of the hospital once her motor function deteriorated. Towards the end, she was completely bedridden, although luckily her muscles were weakened enough that she didn’t have to be restrained anymore. She couldn’t hurt us or herself.”

Derek clenches a hand around his hip, and Stiles feels like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. Slowly, he brings up his own hand to link fingers with Derek’s, offering him thanks in the only way he could.

“One night when I was eight, I was alone with her at the hospital. My father was at work, taking double shifts to cover the medical costs. Mom was having one of her lucid moments, and I was telling her about my school day. She interrupted me, told me she couldn’t breathe. When I went to go get a nurse, she stopped me, and said that it was an easy fix.”

In his mind, he can see the hospital room as clear as crystal, every detail burned into his memory. He wasn’t lying when he told Jane and Darcy that environmental perception came from all the senses. Stiles can remember feeling the hospital blanket under his fingers, smelling the antiseptic and plastic, and even the taste of the Jell-o his mother let him steal from her dinner tray when an aid came in to feed her that night. He hasn’t been able to eat it since.

“There was a med cart with syringes in the corner. A code blue was paged five minutes before and the nurse left it in the room when she rushed out. Mom told me that all I had to do was fill one of the syringes with air and put it in her IV line. I’d spent so much time at the hospital, watched them inject drug after drug into the lines that I knew I could do it. Every time they gave her something, she always felt better, and if she couldn’t breathe, she needed air, right? She was already on oxygen, but I didn’t understand what the nasal cannula was. And so I filled the syringe completely with air and injected it, just where she said to.”

After all these years, Stiles will never forget or forgive the way his mother smiled when he looked at her for approval, _is it better, Mommy_? She was so happy that he killed her, that he helped her along the way the doctors and nurses wouldn’t. He was too young to worry about ethics. He just wanted his mother to stop hurting. He’s worked through his feelings with his own therapist, and still works through them talking with his pack. His mind knows that she wanted to be gone quicker, to stop both their suffering, but his heart _hurts_.

“The air in the IV caused a venous air embolism, which caused ventricular fibrillation. I held her hand as her heart failed, waiting for her to tell me that she could finally breathe, that I did a good job and helped her. I didn’t even realize she died, even after I heard the doctor call her time of death. I told the nurse what I did, because I didn’t understand what was happening. I thought she still couldn’t breathe. It hit me when the doctor told my dad what happened after he showed up, and he turned to me with absolute horror on his face when he realized that his only child killed his wife.”

He finally drags his eyes away from Barnes to stare at Rogers. Stiles has tears in his eyes, and no amount of pushing the emotions away will get rid of them. He knows from experience. The room is silent after his story, but he forces through the discomfort.

“So how about it, Captain? Do you think my _experience_ was traumatic or stressful enough? Or do I need to pick up a gun and rush to the front lines?”

A tear falls down his cheek and Rogers goes pale as a ghost, reeling back as if Stiles physically hit him. The walls start closing in on him, and Derek’s hand tightens around his. He needs to _leave_ , to be safe, and he can’t do that split wide open for these strangers to see and judge him.

Stiles turns on his heel, leaving his bag and walking straight to the elevator. Derek follows quickly, and the elevator doors immediately open and shut behind them. The alpha folds Stiles into his arms, and the tears he tried so damn hard to hold back fall freely.

His mental shields are shredded. If he knows he’s going to have a tough day, he can shore up, but he wasn’t ready for today. Already emotionally exhausted from the sessions he did with his clients, Stiles can’t hold on. With a gasp, he pulls at Derek’s shirt. “I can’t shield… I, I can’t block them--”

Derek shushes him, cupping the back of his head and tucking him into his shoulder, blocking him from the world. If only it worked like that. “It’s fine. It’s--”

“No,” Stiles says on a sob. “We need-- I… safe, Der. We need to be _safe_. They can’t _see_. They'll watch and _dig_ …”

He can't get the rest of the words out, because the shame is creeping in and closing up his throat. He doesn't want them to watch footage of him falling apart after hearing how together his adult life was. He can't stand the thought of them rifling through the old newspaper clippings saved online, of her obituary and the fucking pictures a local photographer took at her funeral, where his dad is in shock and Stiles doesn't understand why his mother hated him so much she left him with a smile on her face.

“Okay,” Derek says softly, releasing him with one hand to reach back into his pocket. “I’ll text Thor to come cover us, okay?”

If there was one person who could see him like this, it would be Thor. The god probably thought the nogitsune was the hardest thing Stiles lived through and he’s been nothing but supportive. Stiles can’t be choosy right now. He needs to get to their room, curl up with Derek, and call his dad. If allowing Thor to see that gives him a small piece of stability back, then he’ll do it.

“Everything,” Stiles says as he nods, the elevator stopping at their floor. “Tell him to do everything.”

When they get inside the apartment, a flash of lightning illuminates the living room briefly as a storm brews outside. He’s glad. This feels like a time when there should be rain outside.

His alpha knows what he needs, and immediately drags him to the bedroom, shuffling him to the bed and pulling off his shoes, followed by his own. Once on the bed, he tucks Stiles up against his side and unlocks his phone, thumbing through his contacts.

“Thor is requesting entry into your apartment,” Friday tells them.

“Let him in,” Derek orders, holding up the ringing phone to his ear. Stiles blocks out the conversation, doesn’t know if Thor stays in the living room or joins them in the bedroom. All he cares about is his father’s voice calling for him through the phone speaker when Derek holds it up to his ear.

“Dad?” he gasps.

“Hey, kiddo. Love you.”

He breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Stiles tells the group that he has PTSD from when his mother died. She manipulated him into injecting air from an empty syringe into her IV line which killed her. He tells them this but storms out because he's extremely upset. 
> 
> For those of you wondering, all the certifications and degrees Stiles has are real. The names may have changed because this was written literal years ago, but they are all certifications and degrees Stiles would be able to get and qualify for. 
> 
> To everyone getting ready to rage at Steve and the others, wait for next chapter. I promised this is not a bash on Avengers fic and it’s not. Please keep in mind this fic is written only from one POV and as much as we love Stiles, he’s a little shit.
> 
> Again, stay safe, protect yourselves, and thank you again for all your support. I promise it'll get better.


	7. Wake Up My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogers clears his throat. “Hello. I’d… like to speak to Stiles.”
> 
> “No,” Derek says immediately. “That it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovelies! I hope the past week has treated you well. I wanted to treat everyone after the harsh last chapter so you're getting this chapter a day early. It resolves a lot from last chapter and the fic so far in general. A certain someone says certain words that I'm sure you're all dying to hear. It also sets up for the next part of the fic that I'm so ready for you all to read. 
> 
> This chapter title is inspired by Running All Night by Zayde Wolf. Give it a listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kAdOw5zGMKo).

Stiles wakes with a pounding head. He always has a headache after he cries, and when he has a full-on breakdown, he’s almost guaranteed to get a migraine. Derek isn’t in the room, but there’s a glass of water and medication bottles next to it. With a groan, he sits up, reaching for the water and meds. He pops his Adderall and the heavy duty pain reliever that will hopefully help kill the pressure in his skull.

He sits there, letting his frame go loose and relaxed as he stares at the wall opposite of the bed. The hour before he finally fell asleep for good last night is hazy. His dad stayed on the phone with him, talking about nonsense until he finally drifted off. Derek woke him up to eat some protein bars and drink some water, but Stiles just couldn’t get out of the bed.

There are some clothes laid out for him on the chair in the corner, but Stiles knows that he can absolutely stay in bed for the day if he needs to. It’s tempting to stay hidden from… everything. Just for a little while longer. There’s no way that he can go to Columbia today, not with how emotionally raw he feels. He’d do more harm than good to the people there.

His cell phone sits on the bedside table, plugged in and charged. Stiles groans as he pulls himself closer, feeling physically sore, as well. After sending texts to his study group and an email to his professor telling them about as close to the truth as he can - that he had a very emotionally charged discussion with the people he’s under contract with and won’t be in today - Stiles gets up and looks at the clothes Derek laid out for him.

The sweatpants are his but the t-shirt and hoodie are Derek’s. A mismatched pair of Kira’s fuzzy socks that he stole when they moved to New York are laid out on top. His alpha knows him so well. After changing, Stiles grabs his phone and cautiously heads out of the bedroom. It’s still fairly early, but he can hear Derek moving around in the kitchen. There’s also a fresh pot of coffee ready, if the smell is anything to go by.

Stiles is surprised to see Thor sitting at the island, watching Derek work. He jolts, because while he remembers asking Derek to have Thor block them, he assumed it would be a one time thing. He renewed the random information blocks when he thought about it, but part of his own magic was that it was always working, always in motion. Maybe it was that way for Thor, too.

Derek doesn’t look up from the stove, but he does hold out an arm toward Stiles. He doesn’t hesitate, walking over to Derek and snuggling into his side. Derek rubs a hand up and down his back, soothing away the last of the tension. They stand in silence as Derek stirs the oatmeal before removing it from the burner. Even though he doesn’t want to eat, Stiles needs fuel for the day and he’s even more grateful that Derek is here with him, taking care of him. He’s always been absolute crap at self-care.

Placing a kiss to his temple, Derek draws back to look Stiles in the face. “You need to call Lydia. You can probably get away with a text to Scott, though. Your dad will fill him in. Melissa wants you to call her, too. She was with your dad last night.”

He swallows, even though he knew that was to be expected. Stiles threw so much hurt and panic down the pack bonds that everyone felt it last night. And if Melissa was with his dad, then she knows how bad it really was due to the phone call.

The pack jokingly started to call his dad and Scott’s mom Papa Stilinski and Mama McCall when they really settled, but Stiles has been using that name for her for years before. He needs to hear her voice just as much as he needs to hear his dad’s.

“Can you run interference on Lydia for me?” Derek gives him an epic bitchface, because there is no such thing as running interference on Lydia when she really sinks her teeth into something, and she and Stiles are equally protective of each other. “Please? I’ll call her tonight, but I don’t want her hunting me down ready to break everyone’s ears because I need a breather between the many emotionally draining phone calls I’m going to make. Parents and family trump ex-girlfriends.” Not that he would ever say that to her face.

“I can probably get you some distance until 3. I make no promises after that, especially since you’re not going to Columbia today.”

He says it like he expects Stiles to fight him. “Already let them know I’m taking a day. Thank you,” he murmurs, leaning over to give Derek a quick peck before turning to Thor. “And thank _you_ for being here. I was so drained yesterday that I panicked.”

Thor looks worried, which is kind of mind-blowing. “It was my pleasure. I have done as you asked, and used my own magic to protect you, your pack, and your family from any prying eyes. I shall do so until you feel well enough to resume.”

Stiles breathes out in relief. He really does need some time to recuperate. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’m pulling you away from, but--”

“I would stay, because after such a difficult discussion yesterday, you need time to recharge.” Thor stands, leaning forward against the island. “And if I may, I would like to assure you that your mother is resting well, and is whole in Valhalla, surrounded by those who understand her spirit.”

From the moment she died, Stiles heard the typical platitudes - your mother is an angel now, she’s watching over you from heaven, she’s here in spirit - and they never, _ever_ made him feel anything but resentment, especially as a young boy. This one is different, not only because it’s from Norse history.

“Valhalla is for people who died in combat, who were warriors,” he croaks. Derek comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, and Stiles leans almost all his weight against his alpha.

“And was your mother not a warrior? She fought against her own body, her own mind.” Thor gives him a kind smile. “I believe you are very aware that our greatest battles are not fought against foes that we see with our physical eyes, but the demons inside ourselves. Do you not go into combat every time you wake up, or some days, look in a mirror?”

Stiles takes a gasping breath, and apparently he’s not done crying over the topic, damn it. Derek rubs his sides in comfort.

“She was a great fighter, your mother. She is where she belongs after such a long battle. Be at peace, my friend.”

Thor stands and heads to the door. Stiles grips one of Derek’s hands tightly, saying, “Thank you, Thor. For everything.”

The god leaves after giving Stiles one last smile and he collapses back into Derek’s chest. “Thank you for making breakfast,” he whispers, feeling like he’s done nothing but thank people, but there’s nothing he can do. He never expected such kindness from Thor today.

Derek holds up his phone, his dad’s cell phone number displayed on the screen. Stiles gives him a small smile and takes it, hitting the dial button.

“Hey, Dad. No, I’m doing a lot better…”

After his phone call with his dad, Stiles eats the breakfast that Derek made. He received a response from his study group and his professor, all of whom are very understanding about the situation, as much as they know. Scott won’t actually settle for a text, and even goes so far to demand a Skype session. He really needs to type up a paper at the same time, so Stiles ends up helping him with the flow of his latest assignment while putting up with Scott staring.

By the time that Skype session is done, Mama McCall is on her break, and she spends her fifteen minutes talking more to Derek than him, making sure that he’s getting plenty of fluids, eating bland foods, and monitoring his light sensitivity and temple pressure. She ends the phone call telling Stiles that she loves him, and that she can be there in a second if he needs her. Stiles has to hold back the tears again, but he knows it’s true. She’s just as much his mother as she is Scott’s. He knows that Scott thinks the same about his dad, too.

Derek manages to hold Lydia off until dinner, especially when he texts her that Stiles didn’t eat much lunch and Melissa was worried about his intake and stress. Derek takes a picture of him eating simple baked chicken and steamed vegetables and sends it to Melissa and Lydia both. Ten minutes later, Lydia calls and blindsides him with FaceTime, which he accepts out of habit before he can consider the ramifications.

“You look horrible,” she tells him bluntly, looking over his face in her face screen. Stiles sighs. So typical.

They don’t talk for long, only because Lydia has a lot of work to do along with an early morning, and Stiles really is tired, especially since he spent most of the day telling people he was fine and trying to convince himself of the same. The phone call ends with Stiles and Derek promising to visit her in Cambridge within the month.

Night has long fallen when a knock sounds on their door. Stiles is currently snuggled up to Derek as they watch an episode of _Leverage_ , which is the pack’s go-to show when they need a pick-me-up. Derek continues to run his hand through Stiles hair, not bothering to look away from the television. “Who’s at the door, Friday?”

“Captain Rogers.”

Both of them freeze, and Derek immediately mutes the television. “I should--” Stiles begins, but Derek turns to him with a growl.

“Absolutely not. You’re not talking to him unless I know for sure he isn’t going to treat you like that again.”

Stiles sighs because he was about to say leave the room, but he can understand what Derek thought he was going to say. He’s not the only martyr in this relationship sometimes. “Okay, but I want you to remember how much of a dick I was to you when I thought you were messing with Scott. I’m an asshole, too.”

Derek doesn’t look happy with that explanation. “You were teenagers. And you need to stop making excuses for them. Go into the bedroom and lie down and only come out when I call for you.”

He understands why Derek is being extremely protective. His instincts are probably going into overdrive, what with his emissary _and_ boyfriend losing his calm and crying all through the night. The thought of leaving Rogers to Derek is… more than okay. He likes not having to be the one talking for once, even though it’s literally his job for both Derek _and_ Scott.

But this isn’t a situation where he needs to be the emissary. This isn’t their pack following supernatural protocols. With that in mind, Stiles hauls himself off the couch with a sigh and trudges back to the bedroom. He doesn’t close the door all the way, because he’s too nosy for that. As shitty as he feels, if Rogers goes after Derek, there is going to be a beatdown, supernatural secrets or not.

Derek huffs at him in irritation, because of course he knows Stiles is right by the open bedroom door, but he walks to the foyer of the apartment anyway. Stiles can hear the door open, followed by Derek’s very terse, “What?”

Stiles has to bite his lip because, God, he can just imagine the look on Rogers’ face. Stiles has done all the talking when they’re around the other Avengers, with the exception of first meeting Clint and all their discussions with Thor. Well, and his brief hello to Sam yesterday. No one probably knows how downright antisocial Derek can be.

Rogers clears his throat. “Hello. I’d… like to speak to Stiles.”

“No,” Derek says immediately. “That it?”

Stiles smiles when Rogers stutters, clearly not expecting that answer. “Look, I think I owe him an apology.”

“You _think_?” Derek growls out, and oh, Stiles hopes he managed to keep his eyes and claws in check.

“I know,” Rogers quickly corrects. “We all do, but I was the instigator. I owe him an apology for a lot. We got off on the wrong foot, and Sam was right that I didn’t even give him a chance. I’d like to now.”

Stiles wants to see the expression on both Rogers and Derek’s face. There’s only so much he can glean from the verbal communication, especially on Derek’s side.

After a full minute of awkward silence which makes Stiles glad that he is a room away, Derek finally gives. “I had to call his dad last night, and I couldn’t even give him the full story on why Stiles was so upset. He’s been on the phone with his family and friends all day and he can’t give them details about what happened because of all the non-disclosure agreements we both had to sign.”

“I don’t--”

“You realize that whole disaster yesterday was a breach of his contract, right? That he could walk right now and never come back without any repercussions?”

Stiles blinks in surprise, because he completely forgot about the contract. While he doesn’t think last night was a complete breach of contract, Peter could probably swing it that way. No one forced him to talk about his mother, although Derek would argue that it was coerced. That would violate the rule about no digging into personal information. Without Thor, there definitely would have been digging.

He leans against the wall, curious as to what the response would be. Clint told him that the day they arrived, Fury supplied all the Avengers with the copy of his contract, so they knew the details. Stiles never believed that a piece of paper would keep them from their research, hence his constant blocks against Friday and any other questions about their lives.

“I know,” Rogers says after a moment. The man sounds almost as exhausted as Stiles does. “All I can do is apologize to you, to him, and try to set things right. If you both leave, then I understand and support the decision. I… really am sorry for everything, since you’ve arrived.”

Closing his eyes, Stiles takes a deep breath. People can fake sincerity, and do so often and easily. Having a heart-beat monitor as a significant other is great, but part of his ability as an emissary is sensing the intent of others. It’s important, when he’s often the one sent out on behalf of the pack, without his alphas there to protect him. It’s saved his life plenty of times, even before he became an official emissary and started using his magic.

And in this moment, he knows without a doubt that Rogers is absolutely telling the truth. He _is_ sorry, and he does want to set things right. Stiles just isn’t sure how the hell they’re going to do that.

With a sigh, Stiles pulls open the door and walks out past the hallway, so he can pause at the entrance of the living room. Rogers immediately moves his gaze from Derek to Stiles, and looks stricken when he takes Stiles in. He must look ridiculous in his fuzzy socks, sweatpants, and a hoodie that is way too broad for him, but he also must look pretty pathetic. If there was one thing that dating Lydia taught him, it was to take pride in himself and how he presents himself to others. He always dressed to impress, even in the tower. This is the first time anyone saw him otherwise attired. It’s probably working in his favor, though.

“Let him in, Derek,” Stiles says softly. “If he says something I don’t like, you have my permission to kick him out the window.”

“Debating on doing that anyway,” he mutters, but does stand to the side so Rogers can enter the room.

It’s the first instance Stiles can ever recall seeing the man look normal. He isn’t angry, irritated, ready to rip the proverbial heads off anyone who says something he doesn’t like. Stiles gestures for him to sit in the armchair while Stiles goes back to his nest of blankets that lost all their warmth when he and Derek stood up.

Derek firmly seats himself on the other side of Stiles, so he’s an additional barrier between him and Rogers. Stiles pats him on the thigh and then looks at Rogers expectantly. “First, I’m not going to claim breach of contract.” He chuckles at the once-again epic bitchface Derek gives him. “I’m not, and don’t you dare tell Peter that I divulged personal information because it was coerced out of me, either. Because then he’ll tell Lydia and she’ll show up to kill everyone. That’s too much paperwork.”

“Fine,” Derek grumbles. “But I’m telling Melissa.”

“Oh for--” Stiles cuts himself off, pulls out his phone, and texts Mama McCall himself. “There. She knows. And she’ll tell Dad and Scott and if either one of them make a big deal out of this, _you’re_ answering the phone, you big worry butt.”

Derek runs his hand over the back of Stiles’ head and he huffs, snuggling back down into his blanket. He looks back to Rogers, only a tiny bit embarrassed that he and Derek squabbled like that in front of him. “Back to the topic, I’m not messing with the contract, but you do realize that I’m only required to be here for three months, and we just passed the second month mark?”

Rogers nods. “I do. I’d like to apologize to you because I _do_ think your private history was coerced, specifically by me.” He folds his hands in front of him as he leans forward. “I’m normally a very good judge of character, but when Bucky is in the equation, it’s like my blinders go up. I become irrational, and I know that. I’ve been trying to help him for years, and we’ve pretty much explored every option. I was getting desperate, and I took that out on you, so I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Stiles says softly after a few moments. “But be forewarned, I’m an asshole, and I tend to hold grudges.”

Rogers chuckles, “And I would deserve whatever you dished out. I know.”

“But I also want to point out that I’m not sure if it’s a good thing for me to even stay on,” Stiles says gently. “I want to talk to some of the professors I’ve been working with and some colleagues I trust, but there has been such a huge power imbalance that I don’t think whatever help I can offer would be received.”

Stiles expected Rogers to nod, to say he agreed, and maybe to apologize a few more times. He did _not_ expect Rogers to practically panic, eyes widening as he sat up. “What? No!”

“The fuck, dude,” Stiles blurts out, leaning back in surprise. “I’m pretty sure 24 hours ago you wanted to boot my ass out of here.”

Rogers runs his fingers through his hair with a sigh. “Well, you’re not wrong. And I’m tempted to agree with you about the imbalance thing, but… Bucky requested to talk to you this morning. He’s interested in getting help.”

“Wow,” Stiles drawls. “Then it is _definitely_ not a good thing for us to talk. We’re slamming on the brakes, right now.”

“Why?” Rogers asks, looking like Stiles just kicked his puppy. Which, Stiles sort of did, figuratively.

“I mentioned the power imbalance, right? Even though I’m not a clinical psychologist with my own practice, I still adhere to the Professional Code of Ethics from the APA, ACA, and all those other ethical boards. Yes, I play fast and loose with some, like conflicts between ethics and law. That’s what my entire Master’s degree was about. But god, do you even know how unethical me even _taking_ this contract was? Third-party requests of services are in a very morally gray area. That’s why my contract also states I don’t _have_ to speak to him. If people aren’t ready to talk about a traumatising situation, you don’t force them.”

“And you’re the only damn person brought in who even considered that,” Rogers said firmly. “A few others tried to give him space, but they still insisted on face-to-face meetings once a week until they just gave up.”

This conversation was going the opposite direction than he wanted. He can practically feel the smugness oozing out of Derek. He’s going to get an _I told you so_ later. “Oh my god, I’m trying to tell you how bad of an idea this is, not convincing you how great I am.”

“Well, Sam did a lot of that for you,” Rogers says, and holy hell, there is a small smile on his face. No. This can’t be happening. They are not bonding. Just no.

Groaning, Stiles rubs his face with his hands. “Look, the focus of any type of therapy should be on the client. Yes, you want to be able to go into a vulnerable space together, but the fact that he only wants to talk to me after I became the vulnerable one is not a good building block. Most people perceive vulnerability as weakness, which is bullshit, but the fact still stands that if he only wants to talk after I’ve shown a less than professional side of myself, we’re not going to work well. Showing that level of emotion in what was practically the second time we had a ‘conversation’ undermines the entire therapist-client relationship.”

Frustration is clear on Rogers’ face, but it’s so strange to try to convince him of something he agreed with just a day ago. “And this is the first time he’s ever wanted to talk, period. Including to me. He didn’t do it because of the vulnerability you showed.”

“Then why?” Stiles asks firmly. “Because I don’t know if you noticed, but we had a stare-down yesterday, and I’m pretty sure there was no connection there whatsoever.”

“He wouldn’t tell me exactly why, and it wasn’t for anything like a session. He… just wants to talk.”

That’s not exactly an answer that he likes, but Stiles has come this far. He’s far too curious to _not_ jump at the chance. Stiles bites his lower lip. On the one hand, if he _can_ help, then he wants to. It’s what he’s dedicated his life to do, and apparently they’ve tried every other method. On the other hand, their relationship is skewed, but if he’s being honest, if he really cared about ethical dilemmas, Stiles never would have accepted the contract in the first place.

With a sigh, Stiles nods. “I’ll talk to him once. There’s a conference room on this floor that we’ll use so it’s a neutral space and if either of us need to leave, we have a place to go to. Let’s try this Saturday. I still need more time to get my head on straight.”

Rogers takes it for the dismissal it is, standing up and brushing off his pants. “Thank you. And I really am sorry for the way I treated and spoke to you. I’ll strive to be better.”

He barely holds back the face he wants to make. Who even says that? “Thank you. I’ll have Friday let you know the details.”

Stiles stays seated and Derek shows Rogers out of the apartment. As soon as the door is closed again, he exhales heavily and falls back into the blanket nest. Derek walks up with a dubious expression on his face. “Are you sure you want to try this?”

“No,” he replies immediately. “But I’m going to anyway.”

Derek gives him a small smile. “Of course you are.”

His phone breaks up the moment, and Mama McCall’s picture appears on his screen. She’s calling, and Stiles already winces when he answers it. “Hey, Mama.”

Derek’s smile turns into a smirk as he listens to Stiles get thoroughly lectured on overstressing himself. When Stiles gives him a pout, Derek rolls his eyes and takes the unspoken question for what it is. Five minutes later, Stiles has a new, steaming cup of coffee and a snuggle buddy. He even wedges the phone in between them so Derek has to suffer, too.

All in all, it wasn’t _too_ bad of a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this helps some of you during this horrible time. As always, stay safe and protect yourselves. Next chapter will be up in a week!


	8. Dynamic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles, Derek, Steve, and Bucky all finally sit down. It doesn't end how you think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, beautiful people! I hope that your week was good and you're all safe. Here's another chapter and I am so excited for it. I do want to give a warning, though. This chapter ends on a cliffhanger. It's not an emotional one though. This is just because your author is an asshole. If you want to wait until next week for the resolution, go for it. 
> 
> Chapter title comes from the song I had on repeat when I wrote the latter half of the chapter. It's called Octane by Nick Road. Give it a listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kXOiP9tcFJQ&list=PLnAdKXdu4xnqHR9PHRr8x3T72hbo2XSBL&index=6&t=0s).

Stiles feels nervous when Saturday finally rolls around. He’s been focusing on getting his own inner thoughts worked out, and done a lot of self-care that he neglected as he pushed himself hard at Columbia and the research center. He knows, especially after talking things through with Derek, that he was misplacing his irritation at the Avengers on himself, and pushed further than he needed to.

But it’s a new day, he and Rogers actually had a conversation where they didn’t swear at each other angrily. Stiles counts that as a win, and a good omen for how the conversation with Barnes is going to go today. That is, if he hasn’t just jinxed himself.

When he and Derek show up to the conference room, Stiles is happy to find only Rogers and Barnes inside. “Oh good. You’re here, too. I need you to witness some paperwork.”

Stiles drops his messenger bag on the large conference table and starts rifling through it.

“Paperwork?” Rogers asks, crossing his arms like he’s ready to argue.

He blinks at the harsh tone, pauses in digging out said papers, and slowly turns to Rogers. This is not how he wanted to start the conversation. He really did jinx himself. “Okay, first of all, your overprotective ass needs to chill the fuck out.”

Barnes snorts, then looks like he really didn’t mean to let that noise out. What makes the situation even better is the absolutely betrayed look Rogers sends him. It’s almost like looking in a mirror, with him and Scott on the other side. Stiles has to give himself a mental shake to refocus.

“Second, _yes_ paperwork. We may not be operating out of a clinic or a center, but there _is_ such a thing as informed consent.” Stiles gets blank looks from both of them, and he wants to beat his head against the table. With a sigh, Stiles looks expectantly to Barnes. “You’ve never filled out an informed consent form? Filled out intake papers?”

Stiles doesn’t think he’ll get an answer, but Barnes shrugs. “Most of them had stuff for me to sign. I just signed it.”

He gives in to his urges, dropping to the chair and letting his head fall to the table with a thunk. “Has no one ever explained the concept of reading before you sign?”

Derek gently places his hand between Stiles’ head and the table before he can really hurt himself, which is a good thing since he’s still trying to stave off a headache. Stiles gestures for everyone to sit, and he’s not surprised that Rogers is the last one.

“Right. Let’s go from the top,” he tells them, pulling a mound of blank forms from his bag. They’re his typical consent forms that he used at Cornell, and he even has a set from the PTSD Research Center. He already made the copies, and slides them to Rogers and Barnes. “Informed consent is pretty much exactly what it says. Basically, I’m going to walk you through exactly what it is I’m going to provide: assessments, treatments, counseling, consulting services, anything else that might come up, including any risks that may arise from said services. I then explain these to you so you know exactly what I’m going to be doing and why. If you don’t agree, we don’t move forward.”

Rogers recovers first, leafing through the papers before glancing up at Stiles. “You’re serious.”

“Absolutely. All practicing psychologists are required to receive informed consent. I may not have my doctorate yet but when I work with clients, I hold myself to the same standards and code of ethics.”

Barnes makes a face, but doesn’t stop reading through the papers. “Why do you call them that?”

“Call who what?”

“Clients?” Barnes picks at the paperclip holding all the pages together. “Instead of patients.”

Derek huffs and settles into his chair, used to hearing this rant. Stiles ignores him, because he is an adult, and rests his arms on the table in front of him. He tries to keep his posture open, his hands in plain view. “Because when people hear the word patient, they think of someone who needs a doctor, who needs to be _fixed_ because they’re broken. I call the individuals I work with clients, because that’s what I do - I work _with them_. I don’t fix them.”

He’s heard arguments for both sides of the argument. Most clinics have a preferred noun, but after hearing a professor give a passionate speech about patient versus client, Stiles has to agree. He’s worked in a few centers that were inpatient, and most of those centers referred to the individuals there as residents. That one, he could understand.

Stiles tries to reign in his emotions as he continues on, explaining as best he can. “This isn’t like an injection or a pill. It’s not a tangible thing that I can give to you that magically cures everything. For all intents and purposes, therapy is a relationship, and both of us are going to have to work at it to see any progress.”

Barnes finally drops the papers without picking up the pen Stiles tossed at him. “Thought you didn’t want to talk to me?”

Raising an eyebrow at Rogers and _his big mouth_ , Stiles tries to not to let his irritation show. “I have concerns about professional boundaries.”

Not looking convinced, Barnes leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and completely closing himself off. His metal arm flashes under the lights. Stiles can practically hear the mental door slam. “And it’s not because you’re scared of me?”

Stiles snorts so hard his throat hurts. He coughs and then clears his throat, ignoring Derek’s muttered, “Good job.” He kicks Derek in the shin.

“Wow. Look, no. At no point have I ever been afraid for my safety here. Well,” Stiles reconsiders, thinking back to the second dinner he had with Thor, Darcy, and Jane. There had been some creative liberties taken in the kitchen. “Jane _did_ nearly set Thor’s hair on fire at dinner once, and I was standing next to him with a bottle of high-proof alcohol in my hand. I did not want to become a molotov cocktail.”

Rogers ducks to hide his grin, but Barnes still looks unimpressed with the humorous answer. Stiles wants to beat his head against the table again. “Oh my god. You don’t scare me. I’ve been willing to sit with you alone in a room, haven’t I?”

The grin drops from Rogers’ face as quickly as it appeared. “Now, hold on. No one said you’d be alone.”

This is the first time Stiles heard he wouldn’t _not_ be alone, and he pulls out his contract just to double check. “Uh, no one said that we would have a chaperone. I don’t do group therapy sessions, and I only signed on to work with the Skywalker portion of this duo. You’re just here to witness paperwork as a legal representative. After that, you’re free to go do… whatever it is you do when you’re not glaring at me.”

Neither of them look particularly happy with his statement. Rogers glances at Barnes out of the corner of his eye before leaning forward, shoulders hunching over. “Look, it’s for your own safety.”

He doesn’t even bother hiding his irritation, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. “Do I look like an early-era Disney princess to you, asshole?”

Rogers reels back, but recovers quickly. He’s not allowed to get used to Stiles pushing against him. That’s not fair. It takes most people _way_ longer. “No, but it’s the truth. We’re supersoldiers. We’re faster and stronger. If you accidentally trigger something, he could hurt you. If I’m there, I can stop him.”

“If you’re there,” Stiles immediately counters, “we’re not going to work through jack shit, because he’s going to be more worried about how you’ll process his thoughts so he won’t _voice_ said thoughts.” He looks from Rogers to Barnes, grimacing. “Sorry to talk about you like you’re not here. Just had to get that out there.”

Stiles can tell Rogers isn’t going to back down. Jesus, he’s like a bigger, broader, blonde version of Scott when he digs his morals into something. So, Stiles treats him like he would treat Scott - by cutting off the argument before it can really start by shoving more information in his face. “Since we have this nifty paperwork in front of us, you’ll notice that one of the papers is a Confidentiality Agreement.”

He pulls his own copy of the agreement out and completely ignores Rogers, focusing completely on Barnes. “We _both_ sign this, but it’s to protect you. You have the right to privacy, confidentiality, and self-determination. Nothing will be recorded. If I take notes, no one but myself will have access. I will destroy them after our contract is over, and you are more than welcome to watch me do so. I won’t disclose anything discussed for research or scientific purposes, or enter any information into any database. I won’t discuss anything said to anyone, including Derek.”

For the first time since they all sat down, Barnes looks interested in the paperwork. He flips to the pages Stiles indicated and starts reading. Rogers doesn’t stop him, but clearly isn’t pleased with the turn of events either.

“There were NDAs with the others--”

“Not the same thing in this instance,” Stiles interrupts. “I’ve already signed like four different NDAs, and the legal representation for the Avengers signed some on your behalf for me, as well. I had to sign one just to enter the building above a certain floor, since I could…” He trails off, frowning in thought before turning to Derek. “What was it?”

“There was a chance you could come across a proprietary electronic device,” Derek says dryly. “And when you asked for clarification, one of the lawyers said Stark liked to make random appliances sentient or explosive and leave them to prey on unsuspecting residents.”

Stiles will never forget Peter’s horrified expression after he initialed that clause. That was when Peter made the Avengers legal team pay for any medical costs that may pop up while he was in residence.

“Right.” He spins back to face Barnes. “That was between groups of lawyers hashing stuff out on behalf of all us. This is between me and you.”

Rogers flips to the page in his own paperwork. “You’ve marked out a section.”

Stiles nods, looking down at the section with multiple black marks running through it. “It’s not applicable.”

Both Barnes and Rogers look up in disbelief. “It’s over mandatory crime reporting to law enforcement. How is this not applicable?”

These two are really throwing him for a loop. The things he thinks they’d argue, they breeze past, and the items he thinks would be easy are issues. “Because I said it’s not. New York mental health professionals have a mandatory duty to report a client that poses imminent danger to himself or others to law enforcement.” When neither of them understand his point, Stiles rolls his eyes. “Who the fuck am I going to call? Ghostbusters?”

Derek glares at him for that, but Rogers continues on, getting fired up all over again, which is what Stiles really wanted to avoid. “And what if you receive a subpoena?”

“Not that I think it’ll ever be a problem, but it’s part of the informed consent. You can refuse to allow me to release any records, which I’m not going to keep.” With a sigh, Stiles pulls out his original contract. “Look, I know this thing is convoluted as hell, but the way this beast is worded gives a giant loophole for us. Technically, I’m not being paid for my therapeutic services. If anyone was to look at this and really read it, all they’d learn is that I am being graciously hosted at Avenger’s Tower as I complete studies at Columbia University. If I happen to talk to _anyone_ , then fine. I’m not required by this contract to do so. It’s to protect me as much as it is you.”

The room is silent as both Rogers and Barnes look through all the paperwork. Stiles is glad they’re actually reading it, although he doesn’t know if they actually understand everything yet. The paperwork is meant to be read by someone who doesn’t understand law or mental health practices, and he is more than willing to answer any questions they have. He takes informed consent very, _very_ seriously. Fuck Eichen House.

Derek reaches over and rubs his back. Stiles may have been sending bad vibes down the pack bonds, but Derek always has an uncanny sense of when Stiles’ thoughts take a turn for the worst. Stiles gives him a tight smile.

Rogers is the first to sit back. “Look, I appreciate all the steps you’ve taken. We’ve had a lot professionals come in who were as thorough, but they’ve never explained it as well as you have. I’m just not comfortable with you two being alone, Disney princess or not.”

Barnes grimaces but doesn’t disagree. Stiles looks between the two of them for a moment before turning to Derek. While they don’t know if a very powerful alpha trumps supersoldier, Stiles knows that he could stop Barnes in his tracks before he even twitched. He and Derek both decided to keep Stiles’ abilities as emissary a secret to reveal after werewolves, because a very strong man built like Derek being able to stop a supersoldier is much more believable than twiggy Stiles having the mental force twenty times stronger. Neither thought they’d have to reveal one of their secrets so soon.

Peter pushed for a clause on the Avengers’ NDA that stated that no personal information discovered could be disclosed, and Stiles made sure that that particular piece was warded to hell and back. Even if they found out about the supernatural, they literally wouldn’t be able to tell anyone. Not that they knew that, of course.

Derek rubs his back again with a nod. He’s willing to sit in and be the physical stop-gap measure if Barnes really does get triggered. “Okay,” he exhales. “Derek will sit in, sign the same confidentiality agreement which will be even more ironclad since he’s not a mental health professional and isn’t held to the same legislature, and if there’s an issue, he can take care of it.”

Barnes looks Derek over and obviously isn’t impressed. “Really?” he asks dryly.

“Don’t let the pretty eyes fool you. He packs a mean right hook,” Stiles jokes. No one else laughs. Typical. 

“While I’m sure you can hold your own against most men,” Rogers says slowly, like he’s actually worried about offending Derek, “we’re not most men.” Barnes raises his left hand and wiggles the metal fingers.

Derek gives them a tight grin, but doesn’t respond. This is what Stiles was worried about in the first place - Derek pitted against a superhuman in a fighting ring having to prove himself. At least it’s not a spectacle like he feared. He would just have to make sure that there was absolutely no recording, as awesome as that would be to watch later. He’s going to fanboy _hard_ seeing his boyfriend fight Captain America. He pulls out his phone to give warning to the pack that Derek is about to have some fun and not to panic. 

“Even if Derek manages to hold his own against me, that still means there’s someone in the room with you and Bucky. And as I recall, you have a problem with that,” Rogers snipes.

Derek takes his phone out of his hands, because Stiles really was about to throw it at Rogers’ head. He’s pretty sure Rogers’ head is hard enough that it’d actually shatter the screen. “No, I just have a problem with you. In more ways than one.” With a sigh, he rubs his forehead. So much for not getting a headache. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.”

His phone vibrates with a return message, and Derek shows him the screen. Thor is most happy to watch a sparring match, and is curious about the outcome himself. He is also willing to block all surveillance so Stiles can wave his proverbial pompoms. Excellent.

“Look, Derek’s going to sit to the side and doesn’t give a rat’s ass what’s being said. If _you_ sit in, the conversation isn’t between me and Barnes. It’s between the three of us, and forgive me, but I don’t do couples counseling. Trust me,” Stiles stresses, making eye contact with the both of them, as uncomfortable as it is. “There will be a mental wall we won’t work past if you sit in on this. I’m an unbiased third party. With you in the room, there will be no objectivity. It’ll be less ‘I feel like shit’ and more ‘I feel good because my BFF wants to hear that I’m a happy little puppy with a flower crown.’”

The pop culture reference goes right over their heads, but the sentiment is still the same. Stiles can tell by their facial expressions and body language that they’re considering it, that they know he’s right. For him, that’s half the battle.

Rogers leans forward, his elbows resting on the table and his head propped up in his hands. He looks about as exhausted as Stiles does. Honestly, if he were anyone else, Stiles would welcome Rogers sitting in. Other psychologists, even if they had a background in preternatural events, would find Barnes daunting, which is completely understandable. Like Rogers said, they’re _supersoldiers_.

But Stiles has faced down worse things, including himself. He’s going to stand firm on this, and hopefully that’ll be the first step in getting Barnes the help he actually needs.

“No offense,” Rogers starts, lifting his head to peer at Derek, “but I want to see how you can handle yourself against me before I make a decision.”

Stiles’ eyebrow shoots up. “Uh, _your_ decision?” he asks sharply before pointing at Barnes. “Pretty sure it’s _his._ ”

Both Barnes and Rogers seem surprised and that and _fuck_ , does he have his work cut out for him. They can deal with it after show-and-tell. “Whatever. Tabled for now. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“You’re way too excited about this,” Derek says as he stands, but he’s amused.

“You can’t shame me.”

Rogers seems dubious about Stiles’ excitement. “You don’t want to change into more comfortable clothes?”

Derek looks down at himself, in his jeans, henley, and regular sneakers, then back at Rogers, shrugging. “This is what I’m going to wear when I’m with Stiles. I’m not going to change and have a warm-up every time they talk.”

He gets a pinched look on his face, but Rogers and Barnes head to the elevator, and all four of them squished in the little box makes Stiles’ head spin for a bit. No one makes eye contact with anyone else the entire trip. If actual music had been playing, Stiles probably would have burst into hysterical laughter as a defense mechanism, and that would have been embarrassing.Thankfully, it’s a quick ride and they exit onto a floor that they’ve never had access to before.

The hallway looks the same, but there’s a set of double doors with no handles or windows at the end. There’s a card scanner, and what looks like various biometric locks as well, but the doors open just as they get close. Stiles bounces a bit in excitement. Outsmarting an AI is hard, but the things it can do are still so cool.

The training room is smaller than he expected, but there’s a large boxing ring in the middle of the room, along with various weights and cardio equipment lining the mirrored walls. The sparring room isn’t empty, either. Thor is there but by the looks of it, he’s just about to finish whatever he was doing. He seems just as surprised to see them, eyes flicking between the two super soldiers and Derek. 

“Good morning! What brings you all to our training grounds?”

Stiles points at Rogers. “They want proof that Derek is able to protect me.” 

Thor looks as excited as Stiles as he claps his hands together. “This is exciting! It will be a fine match.” Both Rogers and Barnes give Thor a strong side-eye for that, but Stiles knows they’ll be proven wrong soon. 

Derek sighs, but Stiles knows he’s not really that upset. He takes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to Stiles for safekeeping. The only stretching he does is rolling his neck and swinging his arms a bit, but unlike humans who need to warm up their muscles, werewolves - and especially alphas - can push through the burn and go into fight mode in a second.

Stiles imagines being a supersoldier is similar. Their rate of healing, strength, and fighting skills are public knowledge. Rogers doesn’t stretch or change his clothes either, jumping into the fighting ring with ease. Derek follows him smoothly and Stiles can’t help his grin as he watches them face off.

Barnes doesn’t join him and Thor, but he does watch from a few feet away, arms crossed and looking like he’s about to watch a daytime soap opera, not an epic fight. Even Rogers is hesitating now, hands on his hips that shows off his crazy physique. Stiles has seen the Dorito memes. Fuck, they’re true. “God, that’s not fair,” Stiles mutters. At the unspoken _really_ he gets from Derek, who heard the comment, he shrugs. “You’re not fair either, just so you know. We’re totally making out after this. Prepare yourself.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Rogers asks after giving Stiles a disbelieving side-glance. Stiles just smiles. He’s used to getting those looks.

“I won’t hurt you. Don’t worry,” Derek tells him.

Stiles snorts. “Okay, Arya Stark,” he mumbles under his breath.

Rogers’ eyebrows go up and he drops into a fighting stance easily. “I’ll try not to,” he replies, a small, indulgent smile on his face aimed at Stiles, clearly getting the reference and proving he can also hear just as well.

Stiles leans forward, because this is his favorite part. Scott and Derek each have their own fighting styles, and their own way of preparing themselves physically and mentally for a fight. Scott squares off against his opponents, making his body a wall they’ll have to break down before he ever gives in. He goes tight in anticipation, coiling like a snake ready to strike. He’s been likened to a boxer, and when he and Derek fight together, he often takes the high ground.

But to Stiles, Derek’s preparation is beautiful. Instead of tensing up, he goes slack, his body flowing between movements. It’s deceptive, which is what draws Stiles in in the first place. He’s low and loose, down to his fingertips. Derek closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Letting the breath out slowly, he rotates his neck one last time before becoming completely still.

When Derek opens his eyes, Stiles knows what Rogers sees. He’s transformed from the doting boyfriend who tolerates Stiles’ humor to a dangerous predator. His eyes aren’t glowing red, but only because Derek holds back the instinct. Thor and Stiles know the truth: Derek’s an alpha of one of the most powerful supernatural packs in the U.S, and he and Scott both earned that title through blood, sweat, and tears.

Stiles once heard another alpha say that the Hale-McCall pack owned the West Coast. Scott smiled and insisted that they only wanted to help their small little town, that they weren’t interested in owning anything, but Stiles met the stare of that alpha over Scott’s shoulder. When Scott turned away, the other alpha nodded at Stiles before dropping his gaze to the floor.

The same dark, possessive smirk that was on his face after that exchange is on his face now, watching Rogers’ body language adapt to the threat. Stiles glances to Barnes who shifts his weight, noticing the difference in Derek as well. He and Barnes lock eyes, and the supersoldier snarls as well as any wolf at Stiles’ expression. 

With the new threat, Rogers doesn’t wait for Derek to make the first move, which is smart. Derek side-steps him, easily staying light on his feet as he dances out of the way of Roger’s jabs. The exchange is very similar to Scott and Derek sparring, even though they’ve both trained in various fighting styles. Rogers changes tactics, dropping away from the boxing stance and into a smoother defensive stance like Derek’s.

“The Captain is very adaptive,” Thor tells him in a low voice. “It is but a small part of his tactical ability.”

He’s right, and Rogers changing his style forces Derek to do the same. He remains on the defensive, but has to protect his footing which limits his ability to move. Rogers tries to maneuver him into a corner, but Derek drops to avoid a lunge, using his momentum to push up and off the corner post. Derek flips over Rogers, putting supernatural force to propel him high enough overhead and twisting to always keep the threat in his line of sight. He lands with a tucking roll worthy of any freerunner, but goes on the offensive.

Hits land, and the thud of their arms blocking blows echo in the room. They’ll probably both have bruises after the fight is over. Rogers clearly isn’t holding back anymore, but Derek isn’t either. Derek also isn’t the only one to flip his body for an advantage, because Rogers dodges a blow with a torque twist that is tight enough to make any gymnast proud.

Derek has more than proved he can hold his own against a supersoldier by this point, but neither of the fighters are slowing down. Stiles doesn’t think calling a time-out would work, but he’s definitely not going to wade in there to make them stop, either. They’re both showing off while trying to best the other.

“Stop playing with your food, Derek,” he says in a normal voice. The statement isn’t a distraction, but it does push Rogers over the line into angry. His next punch is a blur, and while Derek could have dodged it, he lets it land in the middle of his right arm. The sound of bone cracking resonates through the room, and the fighting immediately stops.

Rogers looks horrified, his face pale. “Fuck, I’m so--”

Derek twists his arm, snapping the bone back as it heals. He immediately swings it around, hand forming a fist to crack against Rogers’ jaw with his full strength. The blow knocks Rogers off his feet, and he instinctively tucks, rolling into a kneeling stance on the mat. While he wipes the blood from his chin, Derek calmly walks forward, flexing his hand as the bones from his broken fist realign and pop into place. He’s completely healed by the time he reaches his right arm down to Rogers to help him up.

The entire room stills as Derek and Rogers stare each other down. Rogers grips Derek’s forearm tight, and Stiles can tell Derek really does use his supernatural strength to pull the other man up, doing so with ease.

“Unf, that was so hot,” Stiles blurts out, breaking the tense silence. Thor chuckles, but Derek rolls his eyes. He shifts on his feet, and with that small movement, switches back to the role he projects for everyone to see - the boyfriend just along for the ride. The fight bleeds out of him and Rogers blinks in surprise at the difference.

“You’re a werewolf,” Rogers states.

The air wheezes out from Stiles’ lungs. He stares at Rogers, because _what the everlasting fuck_. He has so many questions flying through his mind that he’s going to get mental whiplash. Derek doesn’t even look surprised.

“So are you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *evil laughter*


	9. Just Getting Started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of chapter eight. You can stop yelling at your asshole author now even though it was highly entertaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I'm a horrible, evil person. I just want everyone to know that I spent the entire previous weekend cackling at my phone and screencapping the best responses to send to everyone I knew. It makes me want to write more cliffhangers. But I'm not that mean and at the moment, the past chapter was the worst it's going to get. Although seriously, I was giggling to myself so much at work my boss finally snapped and asked what was so funny.
> 
> But listen, this whole idea is not mine. That belongs to my beta, brain twin, hot AF girlfriend Jacy. I even ranted about this exact moment on my tumblr which you can read at and laugh [here](https://jacyevans.tumblr.com/post/165137412809/dream-mancer-that-moment-when-youre-35k-into-a). See, I know how it feels. 
> 
> Most of your questions are answered in this chapter. It's a fun one. Chapter title comes from Never Going Back by the Score. Give it a listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vqNjxIZ6AnE).

“What the shit is this shit?!” Stiles shouts at them. When he turns to Barnes, the other supersoldier just nods to himself, like this whole circus is normal. “ _What?!_ ”

“Makes sense,” Barnes says, walking toward the ring. Thor follows, and Stiles unglues himself from his spot and rushes forward.

“No, it doesn’t,” Stiles rambles. “Me standing next to the literal god of thunder makes more sense right now.” He’s going to have a breakdown. He’s going to have an absolute mental breakdown. His life may have been a soap opera in high school, but he locked that shit down years ago. He has his life together now and he is not surprised by anything. There is no way on God’s green earth that Captain Fucking America was a _werewolf_.

Rogers and Derek both jump out of the ring, and while they’re both graceful and move similarly, nothing about Rogers screams _wolf_ to him. He doesn’t even ping the supernatural radar. “We’re not werewolves.”

Stiles’ legs give out, and he collapses against the boxing ring. “Oh, thank you, sweet baby Jesus.” He uses one of the ropes to pull himself up so air can reach his lungs. As he pants in relief, Derek walks over to him. The alpha still puts his body in between Stiles and the other men, but it’s not as defensive as is typical for the gesture.

“Stop being so dramatic,” Derek tells him. Stiles stares at him incredulously before gesturing to the ring beside him where the alpha flipped and prance and peacocked around. Derek does nothing but raise an eyebrow, and Stiles ignores him.

He whirls around to glare at Rogers and Barnes again. “How do you know about werewolves? If you’re not werewolves, what are you?” They share a look, and Stiles flails his hands at them. He knows that look. That’s a _we shouldn’t say anything_ look. “Nope. You don’t get to drop a supernatural bomb, mic-drop, and moonwalk out of here like it’s NBD.”

“The fuck did you just say?” Barnes asks after a moment.

“Oh my God,” he mutters, facepalming. Stiles paws at Derek’s shoulder. Used to the unspoken plea for help, Derek sighs and translates the unique Stiles-speak for them.

“He said that you can’t reveal that you know about werewolves and decide not to share the story about _how_ you know about werewolves.”

Rogers blinks in confusion. “I’m… pretty sure that’s not at all what he said.”

“Trust me,” Derek deadpans.

Heaving a sigh, Stiles drops his arms. “Okay, you know what? Let’s move this away from the thunderdome. Do you want to go back to the conference room? Or maybe one of our rooms for drinks and food? I need food after that. Don’t you need food? Let’s do food.”

While Stiles walks towards the double doors, Derek shakes his head. “Just… let’s go with it for now.”

“With _what_?” Rogers asks. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Good!” Stiles shouts over his shoulder. “That makes two of us!”

They have to make a pit-stop at the conference room anyway for the papers and Stiles’ bag. When they head back to the apartment, Rogers and Barnes stand in the foyer until Derek gestures for them to sit. Stiles moves to the kitchen to grab a few bottles of water and start whipping up some snacks that will restore energy but not ruin their appetites, not that anyone but him has to worry about that.

Thor joins him in the kitchen, shaking his head when Stiles offers him a water. “Do you need any more assistance?” he asks, looking at a corner where a camera is.

Stiles appreciates his subtlety. “No, thanks. I can cover it from here. But I owe you for helping out earlier.”

“Host the next dinner and I believe we shall be even.” Thor holds out his hand to shake, and Stiles grins.

“Deal.”

He finishes the snacks after Thor leaves and hauls it all into the living room. Barnes and Rogers are sitting stiff as a board on the couch, and Stiles snorts. “Seriously? Nothing’s going to reach out from the cushions and bite you on the ass.”

“It’s not… that,” Rogers replies, looking at Barnes again. After giving a small nod, Rogers continues. “We just don’t talk about it.”

Raising an eyebrow, Stiles gestures between himself and Derek as he flops next to the alpha. “Yeah, and you see us singing our supernatural ties from the rooftops? Fuck no. Now, how about you explain how you know what a werewolf is and then we’ll go from there?”

Stiles has been thinking of how they encountered supernatural creatures - specifically, werewolves - before there are too many variables. Large cities are hubs for supernatural activity, and after the Battle of New York, they came out of the proverbial woodwork to help. Their homes were destroyed, too. That could explain how Rogers encountered them. As far as he knows, Barnes skipped town after D.C., and was in the wind until after the Ultron business. He could have encountered werewolves anytime during that time period.

“We fought alongside werewolves in the war.”

Barnes follows up Rogers’ statement with a smirk. “There’s a reason they nicknamed us the Howling Commandos.”

He blinks, because no. _No, absolutely not_. While Stiles tries to get his brain rebooted, Rogers continues, elbowing Barnes in the side.

“The serum Dr. Erskine made was derived of some sort of supernatural DNA. When the 107th was captured, Bucky received a version of the serum that also had some supernatural element to it. Some of the creatures that were in Azzano were experimented on, and most had blood and other samples taken. Most of the werewolves we fought with agreed that it was probably werewolf DNA, given the similarities.”

“You said you fought with werewolves?” Derek asks, and man, is Stiles glad that one of them can form sentences.

Rogers nods, eyes narrowed in thought. “Not all of them, though. Some went back to their families. Packs, they called them. What did they call the ones that stayed with us?” he asks Barnes.

The man frowns in thought, before nodding in recognition. “Omegas.” Derek hums, and yeah, that makes sense. The packless wouldn’t have a place to go back to, and revenge is strong in the supernatural world. It makes the fights much more bloody. “But they were never as strong as Steve. They were stronger than the men, but not to his level. They weren’t as strong as some of the werewolves we fought against, even. We all just figured it was the concentration of whatever was in that serum.”

This time, Derek and Stiles are the ones sharing the sidelong glance. Even in the face of their savior, supernatural creatures wouldn’t reveal their secrets. Omegas may be packless, but they’re not entirely stupid, especially since there were supernaturals on both side of the war. They wouldn’t give away pack hierarchy and knowledge.

Stiles defers to Derek on whether they should share more information. He sees no harm in it, especially since the world keeps getting crazier and the chance that the Avengers might brush up against the supernatural world. If it would save either side the disaster, then sharing is caring.

“It’s _because_ they were omegas,” Derek says. “They didn’t explain pack hierarchy to you. They wouldn’t, especially not in that situation. There are different power levels. Omegas are the weakest.”

Barnes frowns at that, leaning back and crossing his arms. “So what does that make you?”

“Not an omega,” Derek responds with a smirk.

“They explained a bit about it,” Rogers interrupts, glaring at Barnes, who just shrugs. “How it was similar to our team.”

Barnes nods. “There was a second in command, and then another person. An ambassador?”

Rogers shakes his head. “They called it something else. Emissary. They said it was the peacekeeper.”

Stiles, in the middle of taking a drink from his water bottle, chokes and sprays half his water all over himself.

“Do not,” Derek sighs. He doesn’t listen, because he’s too busy laughing. Stiles can’t even use his words. “Different packs use emissaries in various ways, and depending on the creature or human that is the emissary, they can be peacekeepers. Unless a druid fills the spot, that’s only a small portion of what they are.”

Stiles gets himself under control, enough that he can stand and walk to the kitchen to get a towel without falling over. He gets a side-eye from Barnes, but the other man goes back to ignoring him. “So what are they then?”

He dries off, his back to them as Derek searches for a way to explain all the jobs of an emissary without giving away Stiles and magic. While he would like to walk away from this conversation with a little mystery, Stiles doubts it will happen.

Walking back into the living room, Stiles grins at them. “Sniper. Emissaries are like the snipers of a Special Forces unit.”

Derek makes a face at the explanation. “That’s what you’re going with?”

Stiles falls onto the couch, propping his legs onto Derek’s lap. “Infiltration, observation, surveillance. Protect the pack, always watching for the sneak attack, and when necessary, long-range target elimination.”

He may not use a rifle, but Stiles once killed a threat to the pack from a thousand miles away. A warlock thought a kitsune’s tails would make the perfect ingredient to sell on the black market. Scott sent him a picture and the warlock’s name. The next day he was dust, literally.

“Really?” Barnes asks. He seems just as doubtful as Derek, and that hurts.

The alpha nods, although he doesn’t look happy about it. “It fits. They _are_ ambassadors, but depending on the situation, their arrival can be taken as a warning. To an outsider, the leader of a pack is the strongest. Physically, sure, but emissaries are like spies. You never know what they have hidden up their sleeves. They keep the most secrets of the pack.”

Stiles holds back tackling Derek for a surprise make-out session, because that is the nicest thing Derek’s ever said about emissaries, and it’s aimed at _him_. Instead, Stiles nudges him with his elbow and grins.

The action doesn’t go unnoticed. Rogers raises an eyebrow at them, before nodding at Stiles. “So what about you?”

As much as Stiles wants to go on and on about how much of a badass he is, how his name is known all over for his abilities as emissary, he reigns in the impulse. “My brother Scott is a werewolf. That’s how I met Derek. He helped Scott when he was going through his changes, even though I thought my way of helping was working just fine.”

Derek snorts loudly. Stiles elbows him again.

“That’s it?” Barnes asks. Stiles raises an eyebrow, because everyone pegs him as the hanger-on boyfriend when they first see him and Derek together without any knowledge of who they are. He and Derek kinda switched roles in the Tower, since Stiles was the one sought after instead of Derek. He didn’t think he was on anyone’s radar.

“What, do you want me to draw you genealogy pictures, too?” Stiles asks with an easy grin, relaxing into Derek’s side.

Barnes snorts. “You go through that whole spiel and expect me to believe all you are is the boyfriend and the brother?” Stiles says nothing, only raising his eyebrow, waiting for the other man to continue. With a smirk, he says, “The same guy who claimed he was just a student before Wilson made you give a detailed history about your life since high school?”

“I have layers,” Stiles tells him, but he’s impressed with Barnes’ awareness. Now, he has Rogers in on the fun, too. Both are looking at Stiles like _he’s_ the scientific specimen.

“One of those layers including being able to dodge Stark’s AI and surveillance?” Barnes asks.

Stiles can’t even answer before Rogers looks around, like Barnes just revealed the secrets of the universe. “ _That’s_ what’s different about the room.”

“Wait,” he says in surprise, “you can tell?”

Barnes nods, looking at all the small cameras hidden in the room. “We’ve been sensitive to it. We know when they’re on and off.”

Rogers snorts, settling back into the couch. “That and Tony’s been ranting about Friday being unable to watch you except at the weirdest times. We just assumed Fury found a way around it because you wanted privacy.”

Stiles smirks. “Friday can’t watch us because I don’t want her to. Until I allow it, no form of surveillance can be done around either of us. We’re in a dead spot.”

“You mean…” Rogers looks up at the ceiling, brow furrowed. “Friday?”

There’s no answer, and Stiles can’t keep the smug tone from his voice. “And again.”

“Friday?” Rogers asks again.

“Yes, Captain?” comes the immediate reply from the built-in speakers.

Rogers and Barnes look both impressed and vaguely disturbed. His hands were visible and he didn’t move them. There were no buttons pushed, no hand motions. His body was still as he made the change from flipping Friday ‘on’. “I told you,” Stiles explains. “We’re in a dead spot, unless I want us to be otherwise. You want to know why I likened emissaries to snipers? Because we’re always overlooked. We like it that way, because then you never see us coming.”

“So you _are_ purposefully dodging Tony,” Rogers says.

Stiles nods. “I’m still 90% sure Fury had no idea what we were when he went searching for us, but we had a lot more to lose if our secret got out. I’ve been circumventing the surveillance since Fury broke into the damn house.”

Rogers scratches the back of his head. “We thought it was Thor, honestly. Since you two seemed pretty close.”

Stiles nods, and he thought about attributing it all to Thor, but considering Barnes outed him, there isn’t any point in turning back now. “Thor helped out today, because I didn’t know if you two were going to beat each other to death and I would need to intervene. He also helped the night of our little showdown. I was so emotionally shredded that I was worried someone would go digging, and I wouldn’t be able to stop them from getting to the information.”

Rogers opens his mouth, but pauses, looking to Barnes. With a sigh, he nods. “Tony tried. I think Clint may have as well, but they didn’t. Bucky told them to stop.”

Stiles is so shocked, his jaw drops. “Wait, what?” He turns to Barnes, blinking in surprise. “We had Thor cover for us, but there had to have been ten minutes in between me leaving and him getting to the room. I thought for sure someone would get something.”

Barnes’ previously open demeanor shuts down hard. The switch is almost shocking. “Wasn’t their business. Any of it.”

And yeah, if anyone understood wanting to prevent strangers from digging into the past, it would be Barnes. The request to talk after that disaster also makes a bit more sense. He’s an expert at body language, but clearly he has a lot to learn about Barnes’, because they really must have had a connection that night.

“Thank you,” he replies. “I really do appreciate it.” He claps his hands with a grin. “And bonus, now we don’t have to worry about Captain Worrywart sitting in on the sessions.”

Rogers makes a face. “It’s better than Captain Asshole.” Barnes snorts. “But if you’re that worried about it, I agree that Derek can sit in.”

Stiles deflates because either they didn’t really get his whole badass emissary spiel or Rogers is just being Captain Asshole. He thought they were through with this. “Yeah, and then we discussed everything else, and proved Derek wasn’t necessary. I meant it when I said I wasn’t a Disney princess, even if some of them are kickass.” Rogers shakes his head, and Stiles raises an eyebrow. “You think fucking with a computer is the best I can do? Oh, you sweet summer child.”

Rogers squares his shoulders, and dear god, he’s like a bulldog with this. Stiles huffs and stands up, putting his hands on his hips. “All right then. Fight Club. Let’s go. You and me.”

Derek snorts when Rogers and Barnes blink up at Stiles. Sadly, he’s used to getting those looks. What the supersoldiers don’t know is that Stiles didn’t even have to stand up to kick their asses. Rogers shakes his head, but Stiles gestures for him to stand.

“Well? Get up. Come on.”

With a sigh, Rogers leans forward to stand, but Stiles freezes him where he sits. The supersoldier looks down at his arms and legs in confusion.

“What?” Stiles asks, eyebrow raised. “You pulling the opposite of a runner? Let’s do this.”

Rogers’ confusion morphs into anxiousness. Stiles can tell he’s straining against the force holding him in his seat. “I can’t move.”

Stiles rolls his eyes instead of cackling and running away like he so desperately wants to. “Yeah, sure. If you’re scared of hurting me or some other bullshit, stop making excuses. Get up.”

“This is embarrassing,” Barnes mutters. “Just stand up, will you?”

“I can’t,” Rogers hisses. When Barnes reaches over to lift his arm up, ending up unable to lift it off the armchair, he blinks in surprise. “I told you!”

Barnes glares at Stiles. “Did you put glue on the fabric or something?”

He snorts in amusement. “I’m not five, thanks. Why ruin a perfectly good chair when I can just make you stay anywhere I want with my brain?”

Barnes stares at Stiles before leaning around him to raise his eyebrows in question to Derek. The alpha smirks. “No translation needed. He’s telling the truth.”

Without warning, Stiles releases the force holding Rogers into the chair. He was still pressing up against the pressure, straining to get out of the chair, and only his quick reflexes and Barnes instincts keep him from taking a header into the carpet. The moment he’s free, Rogers manages a single step forward before Stiles stops him again.

“So, you still think I can’t protect myself?” he asks with a grin before turning to Barnes. “I meant it when I said I wasn’t afraid of you. I never have been.”

Neither look convinced. Stiles really doesn’t know what else he can do to make them believe him.

“Then why did you need a bodyguard?” Barnes asks, nodding to Derek over Stiles’ shoulder.

He looks back at Derek with a smile. “He’s not my bodyguard.” Stiles shrugs, finally dropping his hands from his hips. “You guys keep getting the roles mixed up. Derek didn’t come along to protect me because he’s not my bodyguard. He came along because I need to protect _him_. I’m _his_ bodyguard.”

It was a concept that it took the pack a long time to learn. The alpha protects the pack, but the pack protects the alpha. Anytime either Scott or Derek went off the territory, Stiles went with them. They tried to coordinate it so that there was always an alpha in the territory. College was difficult, but his dad, some of the deputies, and Chris Argent held it down. The allies on all their borders were close with the pack, and protected their borders. Their reputation was strong enough to discourage anyone from trying to venture in.

But as the strongest member of their pack, Stiles was always present with his alphas. Kira stuck to Scott, and since her own training was almost as intense as his, the pack agreed that the two of them would be safe. His and Scott’s undergrad schools were two hours away, anyway. By the time Stiles moved to New York, Kira was more than powerful and well-known enough to watch Scott’s back.

While he lets that sink in, Stiles rambles on. “And since I had to move because of this contract, he had to come with me. It was either that or go back to California where other members of our pack could protect him. Well, that or MIT, and I don’t think he wants to be subjected to doctorate level math with my ex-girlfriend.”

“Wait, what?” Rogers asks, blinking at Stiles. He just waves the question away. He’s not about to get into a discussion about _that_.

“What did you tell Darcy?” Derek questions with a snort. “Math is Satan?”

“It is!” Stiles exclaims, waving his hands in the arm. “All the numbers and shit? Give me letters any day.”

Derek smirks. “I’m telling her you said math was just numbers and shit.”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles grabs a pillow and throws it at the alpha, who catches it without spilling his water. When he turns back to Rogers and Barnes, they both look steamrolled, which is typical when Stiles does info dumps. “Look, you think he’s strong? I’m stronger. Have people been making assumptions about us? Absolutely. Do we let them? Yes. Do we care? Fuck no. People see what they want to, and they’re scared of what they don’t understand, which is something I’m pretty sure you both understand.”

He flops back down on the couch next to Derek, making a face when he sits in some of his spilled water. Both Rogers and Barnes are still standing, even though neither are frozen in place. Stiles shrugs at them, making rather uncomfortable eye contact with Barnes. “Look, you want to talk? We can talk, just the two of us. We can do it once or multiple times a day, _after_ you sign that paperwork. Feel free to talk about it tonight, and let me know tomorrow. It’s totally up to you.”

Barnes clenches his jaw, but Rogers pulls on his arm, leading him to the door. “Thank you,” he tells Stiles. “We’ll discuss it and get back to you.”

He nods when Barnes swipes the papers on the coffee table and they both head to the door. When the two supersoldiers are no longer in the apartment, Stiles lets all the tension in his body slide out as he falls back against Derek’s chest.

“The fuck is our lives, dude?” he asks after a moment of silence. “Like, seriously. I must have been a serial killer in a past life to have all this shit piled on me.”

He feels more than hears Derek chuckle. “You know that if you didn’t have all this in your life, you’d be bored.”

Stiles makes a face. “Yeah. I can still bitch about it, though, right?”

“Like you wouldn’t do it anyway.”

Stiles grins and closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed and look! No cliffhanger. I can be nice when I want to be. Everyone stay safe, healthy, and happy!


	10. So Silent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barnes and Stiles finally sit down to chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovelies! It's a beautiful day outside, I'm in a good mood, and decided to grace you all with a new chapter a day earlier than planned. 
> 
> Title is from the song of the same name by Zach Hemsey. Give it a listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nKw2OlWO59k). The lyrics are so en point.

Stiles isn’t sure how to start his first session with Barnes. After their show and tell on Saturday, he woke on Sunday to Derek answering the door because Rogers was dropping off the signed paperwork and letting them know Barnes would be ready to talk in the afternoon.

But just because Barnes said that he wants to talk doesn’t mean he wants to have a full session, telling Stiles about his issues, the difficulties he’s having, and other things he discusses with clients at their first sessions. So, he takes cues from how he went into his first therapy session post-nogitsune. He was angry at a lot of people, thought that the therapy wasn’t going to help, and had a million other things he would rather do with his time.

He also doesn’t want to sit in silence as he waits for someone to crack - and it would be him - and he ends up talking about random shit while Barnes stares at him. While the first therapist he went to post-nogitsune didn’t help him, the fourth one was a godsend. It didn’t feel like it at the time, especially when one of his sessions ended with the woman walking him to the door and telling him, _I’m going to make you very uncomfortable next week_.

But she was able to help him in a way that he hadn’t experienced since the childhood trauma therapist he worked with after his mother died. She gave him a deck of cards or stress balls to keep his hands occupied. If he was having a really bad day, he would sit on the floor and use the coloring books she kept stacked next to her chair while they talked. He worked through his thoughts and she wouldn’t stare or try to fill the silence. It created a safe space that he was comfortable talking in.

With that in mind, Stiles brought his laptop to do a paper on - or play solitaire, let’s be honest - and a pad of paper for Barnes to do whatever he wants with. Even though he has colored pencils and a ton of coloring books in his room, he can’t see Barnes even touching them, much less using them for their intended purpose.

He also shows up early to the conference room, and does end up working on his paper. Stiles doesn’t realize how much time has passed, or that Barnes came into the room, until Stiles looks up to grab a reference book and spots the man sitting across from him. All of his limbs flail, so he ends up not only accidentally punching his laptop screen, but also kicking Barnes in the shin, which feels like kicking a steel beam.

“ _Fuck_!” he shouts, curling over his laptop and his hurt hand while drawing his aching leg up. His imitation of a pillbug is hard to do at a conference table, but Stiles manages. “Jesus tap-dancing Christ. When the hell did you get here?”

“I thought you were supposed to be some magical badass?” Barnes asks dryly, glancing between his hand and his laptop.

Stiles pets his poor computer, even though it’s been through so much worse. “Not when I’m in the zone, dude. Good grief. Knock or breathe heavy or something when you enter a room.”

Barnes doesn’t look impressed, nudging the notebook and pen on his side of the table. “What, do I have to draw you pictures?”

He snickers, because that’s exactly what he asked his therapist the first time around in his therapy. He wonders if this is what Dr. Newling thought of him, except Barnes is much more daunting than he was after the nogitsune possession. Stiles was little more than a drowned rat at that point.

“Nope. That’s for you to do whatever you want. I’m not going to look at it. You can doodle, write your thoughts, or play hangman with yourself.”

Stiles pulls his laptop back in front of him. Barnes frowns as he continues to type away at his paper. “I thought I’m here to talk to you?” He manages to make the question sound like Stiles is an interrogator and Barnes is here against his will.

When he glances up from his screen, he shrugs. “Yeah, but in my experience, me staring at you can get awkward. Right now, I’m going to work on this paper,” He spins the computer around so Barnes can see that he’s in the middle of a footnote for a very, _very_ long report and not dicking around or keeping notes, “And you can talk to me or at me or just sit there or even leave. I’m going to be in here all day. You can come back later. It’s up to you.”

He types nonsense just so he can focus while Barnes thinks his proposal over. Once Stiles can get his brain back into the groove he was in, he deletes the mumbo jumbo and adds actual words. Not much time passes before Barnes flicks the pen at him. “You’re serious?”

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Barnes glowers and shuffles further down in his seat. “You don’t have any questions? Even after looking at my record?”

This time, Stiles frowns. “I haven’t seen your record. I refused all the footage reviews, too. Do you know how horrible high school history classes are? To be honest, I don’t remember fuckall about _anything_ from those classes. High school history is the most boring class on the planet. All the focus is on dates and locations, not the people who actually were part of the history.”

Before he dissolves into a rant on the American education system, which he has given many times, Stiles takes a deep breath and tries to narrow in on what’s actually bothering Barnes. “I’m guessing since Fury was surprised when I refused to look at your records that everyone they had before me actually did. And that’s a little weird for you.”

Barnes nods, and bingo. Stiles tries not to roll his eyes. He’s sure the doctors and counselors brought in before him probably took the lifeline, and really wanted to help Barnes. But thanks to his crazy life, things like superheroes don’t phase him.

“Since you’ve never been in therapy before, let me break down how a typical session for all the normies out there goes. Someone either is referred to a therapist by their primary physician or seeks professional help due to any number of things - grief, anxiety, depression, marital issues. The attending therapist doesn’t have a frickin’ clue about the client. The client tells the therapist about the issues, and from there, they start a dialogue about how to resolve said issues.”

“Why is that so important?” he asks.

At least the man doesn’t look like he’s going to action roll out of the room anymore. “Because how individuals present their issues is extremely telling. Body language, noun and verb choice, all of it gives more insight into the issues than you think. Considering I don’t know why I was brought in and these are crazy circumstances, I know why I was offered the chance to look at everything. But I’ve lived crazy circumstances. I’ve gone to therapy because of crazy circumstances, and I know how bad those circumstances can look on paper to someone who doesn’t have context. Those reports or hours of footage don’t provide that. You do. That’s why it’s so important.”

Barnes doesn’t break eye contact through his whole spiel, and wow, that is intimidating. Before Stiles does anything embarrassing like meep or duck under the table, the supersoldier nods and stands, spinning on his heel and leaving the room.

Stiles blinks at the door when it closes. “Yep. This is my life.” He shrugs and tries to get his brain back into an academic mindset so he can finish his schoolwork. He’d be doing this in this room or one of the libraries at Columbia anyway. Bonus, there’s no sexy werewolf to distract him, not that Derek lets himself be a distraction.

Speaking of, Derek brings him lunch and something to drink… sometime. Probably around lunch time. Stiles winds down right before dinner, because that’s one meal Derek won’t tolerate him speeding through for the sake of a paper. Just as he’s sat back, trying to work on the kinks in his neck, he sees Barnes occupying the same chair he had that morning.

This time, Stiles flails both his arms out and hits the chairs on either side of him. His feet are spared this round.

“Damn it!” he hisses, stuffing his aching hands under his arms. “That’s it. I’m getting you a bell or something. That shit’s not cool.”

Unlike this morning, when Barnes made a smartass comment, he stares hard at Stiles. “You’re still here.”

Holding back the _well, duh_ comment that he would typically make, Stiles nods. “I said I would be.” Stiles isn’t sure how many people have lied to Barnes over the years, but he can hazard a guess. Judging by the responses both of the supersoldiers have given him, Stiles is not the normal type of person brought in to help. He’s not surprised he was tested.

“You’ll be here tomorrow?”

Stiles nods again, unlocking his phone and double checking his calendar. “Until 1. I have a meeting tomorrow at the Research Center but I’ll be back around 5 or so.”

Barnes doesn’t respond, standing up and leaving the room as quietly as he entered. If Stiles hadn’t been watching, he wouldn’t have even known the man moved. He needs to learn ninja skills like that.

The door closes again, and Stiles sighs as he leans back in the chair. “Until tomorrow then.”

The next session goes much like the first does, in that Barnes sneaks into the conference room while Stiles is absorbed in a book, Stiles flails and hurts himself (throwing the book in surprise into his own face is a new one, though), and Barnes asks most of the questions. He’s trying not to get frustrated, because according to Rogers, this is the first time the other man willingly went into sessions, and he’s done it with Stiles twice. Even though Stiles isn’t asking the questions he wants to, Barnes’ questions are answers in and of themselves.

He wants to know what Stiles does at the PTSD center, and how many soldiers he helps. He asks about the methods Stiles uses or has used in the past. Stiles is pretty sure he asks most of the questions as a test, and researches whatever Stiles says after their little sessions.

This goes on for a week. Stiles is getting a shit ton of research done, but his frustration grows. Yes, Barnes obviously has trust issues, but as they approach the three month mark and his contract is up for renewal, Stiles still isn’t sure that his presence will help.

He’s voiced all his concerns to Derek. His alpha is supportive, but doesn’t give his opinion. Stiles is grateful, but sometimes he just wants someone to help him out. With a sigh, he grabs his latest research for his thesis and his laptop and heads over to the conference room.

When Stiles opens the door, he freezes. Since he first started working in the room so he could have a neutral meeting space with Barnes, the supersoldier beat him there. It’s still early - he normally doesn’t arrive until 10 unless he has class - so he ends up blinking like an idiot until he’s officially been standing in the doorway long enough for things to be awkward.

With a shake, Stiles walks to his usual chair and dumps his stuff in the seat to his right. “Allow me to state the obvious and say, _you’re here early_. Special occasion or are you still trying to get me off balance as a test?” Barnes doesn’t give away anything with his body language or his expression, as usual, but Stiles continues on. “Oh yes, I’m onto you. Can’t fool me.”

Stiles scrubs his face with his hands and then works on getting his space set up. He slides a blank pad and pen across the table to Barnes’ spot like usual. The man has never used it, but Stiles likes to be consistent. He’s prepared to dive into his thesis for a bit before getting peppered with terse questions, but his laptop hasn’t even booted yet when the supersoldier starts speaking.

“Why do you do this?”

He hasn’t finished his second cup of coffee yet, so he’s still not firing on all cylinders. Three cups and his Adderall is his magical _now I am awake_ routine. After trying to figure out what _this_ Barnes means, and failing, Stiles shakes his head. “Clarify?”

“Why go to school? Get all those… specialist certifications?”

Normally, his answer of _continuing education_ and _I like learning_ is enough of an answer to those questions. He’s gotten them often enough, but for Stiles, the clouds open up and the angels sing. He snaps awake and alert, very aware that how he answers this question will make or break their relationship.

So Stiles gets as close to telling the truth as he can, still keeping his personal demons secret. It’s not the typical answer he gives, so he has to think carefully about how he words his statements.

“When I was in high school, my life was… hard. And I don’t mean typical teenaged drama hard, either. I went to over a dozen funerals, for family friends, my dad’s coworkers, and…” His breathing hitches as he flashes back to Allison’s funeral and memorial. “People who were very dear to me. I had something happen to me that I don’t like talking about, and after that, I needed a lot of help. We all did. It was hard, finding someone I could be honest with, who could understand my headspace and help me. It was expensive, too, and that added stress made tenuous relationships more strained. I almost didn’t make it, and I’m not being hyperbolic.”

Stiles slumps back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “I started to learn more about this field of study to help myself, and then I started to use my experiences to help others who weren’t as lucky as me to find good therapists and counselors close by with people willing to shell out a ton of money for it.”

His dad _and_ Melissa first refused Derek’s offer to pay for his and Scott’s therapy sessions. But insurance could only do so much, and each provider had ridiculous stipulations on their mental health benefits that severely limited services. In the end, Derek’s payments saved both Stiles and Scott’s lives. Stiles only agreed to go if Derek would. Derek told him years later that Stiles saved _his_ life with the challenge.

“I loved it. All of it, even the ugly parts. _Especially_ the ugly parts,” he amends with a small grin. “It’s something I want to do for the rest of my life. I’m not trying to stop bad things from happening, to fight against the bad things, because they’re going to happen and be stronger than me whether I want them to or not. That’s not my strength. My strength is stopping the people who fight the bad things from fighting against themselves, to help them realize they are worthy _because_ they fight.”

For the first time since he and Barnes sat down across from each other a week ago, Barnes’ face expresses an emotion other than irritation. He looks confused and a little bit doubtful. Stiles thinks back to the morning after his mental exhaustion, and the conversation he and Thor had. Some of the god’s statements stuck with Stiles, changed his outlook, and he thinks they’ll do the same with Barnes.

“Someone recently told me that the hardest battles aren’t the ones you fight against others, but the one you fight when you look in a mirror. _That’s_ why I do this. Because I know what it’s like to fight yourself every time you wake up and you’re still alive.” The _instead of dead like you’d prefer_ is unspoken, but by the sharp look he gets, Stiles knows the message is received.

He types in the password to his computer and opens up his thesis document. When he looks back up, Barnes is gone and the door softly clicks shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I know a lot of you wanted more to happen, but I've been staying as true as possible to not only my own experience with therapy and recovery, but also those I've talked to for this fic. In nearly every case, even when you're ready to talk, everything isn't puppies and rainbows in the beginning. This is going to be a process with both steps forwards and backwards. 
> 
> (Also, that line in the beginning where Stiles mentions his therapist told him that she would make him very uncomfortable? My own therapist said that to me as I left one week. Whoo boy, she wasn't kidding.)
> 
> And that's another thing I want to mention. I've gotten so many wonderful comments about how this fic is helping people understand PTSD, therapy practices, and recovery better. That's all I can hope for. Not only do I work with individuals with disorders and brain injuries, but I _have_ disorders and have been in therapy for years. Intense therapy, even. I know how expensive it is, how hard it is to find someone (I've driven three hours round trip for a therapist before), and as someone who has immense trust issues and doesn't open up easily, how stressful the whole process can be. But that's okay. 
> 
> I'm a proud and vocal supporter of therapy and mental health issues and always will be. If you have any questions or just want to vent, I'm here. I do have a [tumblr](https://dream-mancer.tumblr.com) and anon is turned on, even. Don't ever think you're alone. You are amazing, awesome, and loved. Take care of yourself, my darlings.


	11. Vendetta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then Tony Stark Happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my darlings. Here's another new chapter that I hope you enjoy. The feedback on the last chapter was so wonderful and I'm glad everyone is enjoying.
> 
> Title comes from Vendetta by Unsecret. Give it a listen [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7DMJZSTGPXg)
> 
> _Fool me once and it's shame on me  
>  But you know you better tread carefully_

Stiles is in a good mood, and that’s why fate decides to fuck him over. His strategy of working in the conference room instead of the bedroom is doing wonders for him in terms of getting his homework done and also working with Barnes. The supersoldier doesn’t talk much, and when he does, it’s random questions about Stiles. But he stays longer and longer each time, sometimes coming back in the same day. It’s progress, at least. Enough progress that he extends his contract for a month, with the option to keep extending as long as everything works out.

He had an excellent conversation with one of the professors over his thesis, his session with a client was extremely productive, and he and Derek were going to have a romantic dinner when they got home.

Then Tony Stark happens.

He’s heard from Thor and sometimes from Rogers that Stark is increasingly irritated that he can’t find any information on Stiles. When one of his professors at Cornell emails him saying someone was asking after him, Stiles starts to up his protections against Friday and people who are working for, know, or may be hired without knowing by anyone in the Avengers to find more information about him. The man definitely has Slytherin tendencies.

When Stiles and Derek arrive at the tower in the afternoon, Stiles doesn’t even notice that they aren’t on their floor when the elevator stops. He’s in the middle of a conversation - rant, really - regarding a text between himself and Kira on the better member of the RWBY team. He’s a Yang fan hardcore, and nothing against Weiss, but come on!

He doesn’t stop talking until Derek claps him hard on the shoulder when he goes to exit the elevator.

“What?” he asks, one foot hovering comically in the air. When he looks around, he blinks. This is not their hallway leading to various apartments on the upper floor. They’re on the common room floor. Considering there are no buttons in this particular elevator, and all requests have to be routed and confirmed through Friday, there’s no way they accidentally came here.

“There he is!”

Stiles’ foot comes down hard against the tile and he glares at Stark as the man walks toward them with open arms. “Do not want.”

While he’s adopted a polite facade with the Avengers for the most part, Stark is too inquisitive and likes to press Stiles’ buttons. They rub each other the wrong way a lot. Derek does as much as he can to be a buffer, but Stark shifts his focus to Derek and that ruffles Stiles’ feathers even more.

So for Stark to be so happy to see them, something must have happened or is going to happen. Stiles doesn’t want to stick around for any of it. Unfortunately, Friday is a traitor and the elevator doors close behind them and refuse to open, even when Stiles glares at them.

Stiles crosses his arms and glares at Stark. “What? We have plans. That do not involve you. Like, at all.”

“That’s too bad. My plans do involve you.” He turns to Derek with a frown. “Not you, though. Have fun elsewhere.”

Derek and Stiles glare at Stark and don’t move. The moment the elevator doors open, Stiles turns on his heel and rushes towards it, but Derek stops him. They engage in a very serious facial expression showdown, which is along the lines of, _I want to get the hell out of here!_ And _He won’t let us both leave. Just find out what he wants._

With a heavy sigh, Stiles turns to Stark. “He’s staying. What do you want? Again. We have plans. Be quick.”

For a minute, Stark looks like he’s going to protest. He looks between Derek and Stiles, shrugs, and motions them forward.

“Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

Stiles snorts loudly. “You think?” he asks incredulously. “Really?” He’s happy that he gets an apology at all, if Stiles can call whatever just came out of Stark’s mouth an apology. “What gave it away?”

“Okay, yeah, whatever.” Stark gestures him forward, Derek growls low in his throat when Stark puts his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and leads him further into the common area. “Look. You’re obviously a private person. I am decidedly not. And since you’re somehow circumventing my AI and refuse to be social with anyone but the least social person in this tower, I figure the only way to get you to talk is to ply you with a lot of alcohol.”

Stark stops them in front of the huge bar that takes up a back wall. Derek glares the whole way, arms crossed. “Pick your poison.”

“Water,” Stiles says immediately, “because there is no way in hell I am drinking with you. I don’t trust you not to roofie me.”

Stark rolls his eyes and pours himself a drink into a crystal glass. The amber liquid was in its own decanter in the back with no label. He pours a second for Stiles, but not one for Derek. When Stiles doesn’t take it, Stark rolls his eyes, takes a sip out of both and then gestures for him to take it again.

He does, but he doesn’t have any intention of actually drinking alcohol. He has a love/hate relationship with whiskey. It was his dad’s drink of choice after his mother died, when he tried to chase away the depression and the knowledge that Stiles killed his mother, even if she’s the one who manipulated him into doing it. It was also Stiles’ drink of choice post-nogitsune, when he decided that if no one would kill him, he had to do something to forget the pain. Alcohol was the cheapest way to do that.

Since that time, he’s really eased up on the alcohol he consumes. He normally doesn’t do hard liquor, sticking to crappy light beer or wine. He’ll get mixed drinks at restaurants because they water everything down.

Stiles hands the drink to Derek, who huffs but downs the whole thing like it’s a shot. The alpha once told him that he can’t really feel the burn of the liquor, even with the cinnamon whiskey Kira likes.

Stark blinks in surprise. “What just happened?”

“I don’t drink hard liquor,” Stiles explains, “And especially not on a day where I’ve taken my meds so late. You’re SOL.”

“See, that doesn’t work for me. I can’t get you drunk to spill the beans if you don’t drink.”

Stiles sighs loudly. He can feel the irritation from Derek down the bond. It’s practically vibrating off him. The alpha is more cautious about Stiles’ drinking than anyone, because he’s the one who helped Stiles through it in the first place. He also handled the stressful years of college when Stiles thought he could drink with his friends, be the funny guy at all the parties, and not fall into a guilty, depressive slump afterward. Derek’s used to Stiles handing him drinks from parties or functions where someone handed him a glass without asking if he even wanted one.

There’s not going to be a way around this. If he keeps refusing, Stark is just going to escalate. Thankfully, he also has an idea.

“Look, if you want me to talk, then we can talk. No one has bothered to ask me questions. I would tell the truth as honestly as I could if that were to happen. You don’t have to get me drunk.”

Iron Man actually _pouts_. “But that’s no fun, especially if I’m drinking alone.”

Derek rolls his eyes and Stiles doesn’t bother hiding his grin. “Look, how about this. We can still play 20 questions or whatever you had in mind while drinking or doing shots or whatever, except Derek will drink mine. He’ll even drink double what you do. That way, instead of you being the only one to drink, I’ll be the only one not drinking. Sound good?”

Stiles flinches when Derek pinches him in the back. He deserved that. Derek has no problems drinking alcohol, especially since he can’t get drunk. But Stiles did just throw him to the proverbial wolves.

Stark looks between him and Derek, before looking at the empty glass Derek put back on the bar. Like a switch has been flipped, he goes from pouting to grinning. “Deal.”

Stiles meant what he said - he’ll answer some questions as honestly as he can. He expects bullshit questions, and they start out that way - typical favorite color, animal, and the random preferred type of sock - but surprisingly, Stark has good questions that Stiles has to be very careful in the way he answers.

Everyone knows he originally hails from California and that he moved to the east coast for school. Stark remembers his comment about Stiles hating New York City and wants to know why. Stiles doesn’t like huge cities because of safety reasons but he doesn’t like New York City because Derek hates it, always drawn back to memories of the time he stayed with Laura here. He doesn’t want to say that, but does say that it’s personal preference, and since he grew up in a smaller town, he’s set in his small town ways.

Stark also asks about the reason why Stiles chose his field of study, although not as tactfully as Barnes had. Stiles keeps the explanation as short and sweet as possible. He says that he lost family and close friends, and he explored the topic more for himself than anyone else. When he discovered he had a knack for it, moving forward seemed like the logical next step.

He’s not sure if Stark ever realizes that even though Derek is drinking twice as much, he’s not affected at all. He’s honestly impressed that Stark is still upright and able to string sentences together intelligently by how much he’s had. If Stiles did try to match Stark, he would have been passed out on the floor snoring by now. And if Derek wasn’t a werewolf, he would definitely need to have his stomach pumped by now due to alcohol poisoning. As it is, he’s switched from whiskey to a bottle of flavored rum since he likes the taste better.

As much as Stiles was against the whole thing, he kind of enjoys it. Stark half-assed apologizes and then insults him in the same breath every half hour. He and Derek will have to reschedule their romantic dinner they planned, but Stiles thinks it will be worth it. Sure enough, Stark is right in that they do get to know a bit more about each other. If he understood half of what the other man said in terms of science and engineering, Stiles would be even more impressed. Of course, he’s also not sure that the man isn’t trolling him and making up words and terms.

They’re three hours into the ordeal, Stiles lounging against Derek while grinning at Stark, who is rambling on about Pepper, who he has still not met. The elevator chimes and the doors open. Stiles raises his eyebrow when Rogers walks in.

His eyebrows go up when he sees Stiles, Derek, and Tony plus all the liquor bottles. “What’s going on?”

Stiles appreciates his tone, because that level of dubiousness and concern must have taken a lot of practice. With a shit-eating grin, Stiles looks up at Rogers. “Well, Stark is apologizing. And by that I mean that he is trying to get me drunk. Well, Derek drunk. I don’t drink hard liquor.”

Rogers rolls his eyes and puts his hands on his hips, glaring at Stark like a disappointed parent. “I told you to apologize, not get him drunk.”

Stark shrugs. “Same thing.”

Huffing, Rogers gestures to Derek. “He can’t even—“

“Nope!” Stiles says loudly, interrupting Rogers from telling Stark that Derek can’t drunk.

“I’m telling you, Cap, this guy can throw it back. He’s even doubling me.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I can’t believe that you’re still forming sentences and able to walk straight.”

“I’ve had practice,” Stark says at the same time Rogers dryly informs them, “He’s had practice.”

With a grin, Stiles waves them away. “It’s fine. If I really didn’t want to sit here, then I wouldn’t sit here,” he replies pointedly. “There’s no harm in having semi-actual conversations. Join us.”

Stark makes a face at the invitation, but doesn’t revoke it. Rogers sits in one of the other chairs as Stark throws back another shot. Derek sighs and takes two of his own. He’s almost demolished the entire bottle of rum.

“What are you even talking about?” Rogers asks.

Stiles shrugs. “I’m not sure about the last ten minutes. It’s a good thing we’ve signed all the NDAs because I’m pretty sure I was just told details about an upcoming suit that probably shouldn’t have been shared.”

“Not that we could do anything with the knowledge,” Derek chimes in.

“You could sell it, not that anyone can do anything besides make horrible mockeries.” Stark frowns in thought. “Although they already did that after the whole suit came out in the first place. It’d be tacky to try it again. But hey, it’d get a ton of money.”

Stiles laughs. “Wow, do I ever not need the money.”

Rogers and Stark both look over in surprise. “Really? I saw that contract you know,” Stark tells them. “Shield is paying for your tuition and the rent for the house you left back in wherever the hell it is Fury found you, and doctorates aren’t cheap.”

Smirking, Stiles leans further into Derek. “Yeah, but that was just because I could make that a selling point. When you’re practically married to a millionaire, you tend not to worry too much.”

Their gazes quickly switch from him to Derek, who raises an eyebrow at the scrutiny. “You.” Stark points to him with the same hand holding the glass of alcohol. “You’re a millionaire? How the hell did that happen?”

Derek tenses and Stiles rubs his arm. The Hales were extremely wealthy before the fire, but the insurance payout plus the class-action lawsuit Peter filed against the insurance company and the city, and the restitution the Argents paid practically doubled their savings.

“My family was very good at investing.”

Rogers takes the answer for what it is, but Stiles can see that Stark isn’t going to let that line of questioning go. He reaffirms his belief that no one can find anything about the pack, and especially about the Hales. He tunes back into the conversation in the middle of Rogers arguing with Stark about a completely different topic that has nothing to do with Derek, and the man in question nudges him, looking at Rogers pointedly. Stiles makes a mental note to thank the man for getting Stark distracted, guessing that Derek’s financial situation was a topic he wasn’t comfortable with.

He stays to be a referee in the conversation, although he ends up asking Stiles just as many questions, or asking for clarifications to questions Stark tells him. Stiles doesn’t talk about his mother, but talks about Scott and Kira. He has plenty of hijinks stories to tell that have nothing to do with the supernatural.

Rogers also makes sure that Stark slows down on drinking, which Derek is thankful for. Stark tells Friday to order in from a restaurant Stiles has never heard of, and Stiles doesn’t think he can come up with a decent excuse to give so that he and Derek can have dinner up in their room. As a compromise, Stiles offers to cook dinner for the four of them.

Dinner goes smoothly, because he’s used to tuning out stupid commentary while he’s in the kitchen from Liam and Mason. Derek sits on the counters, glaring at Stark when the man cracks a joke about it. Barnes comes in halfway through – at least, that’s what Stiles assumes, because the man is a ninja and he had no idea he came in until Stiles turned around and saw him sitting at the bar next to Rogers – and Stiles increases the protein and carbs he makes.

It’s simple, because he’s not about to try to impress these people with his cooking prowess. Not yet, at least. Stiles knows he’s going to be roped into making dinner for everyone and not just Jane, Thor, and Darcy now.

The questions keep coming, but they’re almost all food based. He answers them as fast as they come – what’s his favorite food? Least favorite? Any allergies? Craziest thing ever eaten? Even Rogers looks slightly green when Stiles describes the toppings he’s put on pizza, but when he was nine, gummy bears, Cool Ranch Doritos, and Thousand Island salad dressing sounded _amazing_.

Derek gets the same questions, and Stiles cackles when he answers the favorite food with _raw rabbit, but the fur was annoying_ with a straight face. He’s not sure whose expression is better – Stark when he gagged or Rogers and Barnes, who can’t tell if he’s being serious.

After dinner, he begs off more drinks and questions because he really does have homework to do, even if he’ll get a huge chunk done the next day since he was going to be in the conference room all day waiting for Barnes. Stark shrugs, tells Rogers to settle in, and starts peppering _him_ with questions. When Barnes slips away, Rogers sends him a pleading look, but the other man smirks and slinks into the shadows. Stiles snickers and salutes him, heading into the elevator with Derek.

He also wants to plan his revenge in the safety of the room where he can kill Friday’s monitoring system. Because Stark is going to regret trying to pry, even if it was hilarious. He has an idea, and normally, Derek wouldn’t agree, but since he took the brunt of Stark’s alcohol drinking game, Stiles thinks he’ll be all for it.

When they make their way back to their room, Stiles gets the details of his plan together. The moment they enter the room and the door closes behind Derek, Stiles can’t hold the words in any longer. To his surprise, Derek beats him to it.

“What do you have planned?”

In any other situation, his tone would be wary, but now he’s just determined. Stiles grins. His boo knows him so well.

“I think we need to sneak you into his workshop, have you shift, and then have him stumble on you.”

Derek shakes his head. “I will get blown away by one of his damn suits.”

Stiles waves him away. “I’ll kill Friday in the room when you’re in there. He’d have to physically open a suit and get in it himself to make it work. If we do it tomorrow, I can’t imagine he’ll be functional enough with the hangover he has to have to manage a screwdriver, let alone one of those.”

He still doesn’t look convinced. When Stiles tries to work out the details, Derek leans against the counter in the kitchen. “Maybe if you keep him distracted and off kilter.”

The lightbulb goes off over Stiles’ head again. “Done. Remember how he used to crash on the couches out there sometimes? I would come across him when I couldn’t sleep and went up there for a change in scenery.”

It happened more often than Stiles thought, and at first, he assumed it was just a ploy to catch him there since he was on Avengers watch. Thor was the one who told him otherwise, that Stark’s sleep schedule was more fucked than his own, for a multitude of reasons.

Derek looks at him expectantly, and Stiles smirks. “I think it’s only fair to make Stark breakfast in the morning since he supplied the alcohol and the food for dinner. And I’ll do it loudly with all the lights turned as bright as possible.”

The alpha returns the smirk. Plan made.

Stiles sets his alarm so that he can get up early enough that he’s reasonably sure that Stark hasn’t left the common area just yet. Derek grumbles about the alarm but gets up, takes his shower, and gets dressed quickly. Stiles doesn’t even bother with the shower, instead throwing on clothes and dashing out the door. He wants to give Derek plenty of time to get down to the lab, stash his clothes, and settle in as a full wolf. He also makes Derek take his phone to set up so that Stiles can watch the video on his computer while it happens. Stiles doubts that he can get into Stark’s security, even if he can subvert it.

He does an outrageous victory dance in silence when he spies Stark passed out on a couch with the lights off and the windows dimmed black. Since the sun is already risen, Friday is the one keeping them dim, and once Stiles blocks Friday from the room, they _should_ go back to normal, see-through glass.

Keeping his thoughts turned to protecting Derek as he navigates his way down and through the lab, Stiles finds all the pots, pans, and ingredients he’ll need to make a proper breakfast. When he gets the text from Derek telling him that he made it to the lab and is about to shift, Stiles grins and drops the first pan on the stove.

A thump sounds from the living room and Stiles smirks. He keeps banging around, being exaggerated with his movements. Stark has some very creative swears in his vocabulary, that’s for sure.

Stark pops up, leaning over the back of one of the couches with a glare, using his hand to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight streaming through the windows. “Why?”

“I just wanted to thank you for giving us a chance to get to know each other better,” Stiles says, innocently. “And since you liked the dinner last night so much, I figured I could make you breakfast.”

He doesn’t look up, because if he does, one glance at Stark’s face and he’ll start cracking up. But Stiles can feel the ocular fire coming his way. It doesn’t deter him at all. He whisks the eggs far too much just so the whisk will scrape against the edges of the bowl.

Stark mumbles something in reply and shuffles into the kitchen. “And what the hell are you making at this ungodly hour?”

“Heart-healthy egg-white omelets with kale, turkey bacon, and vegan, gluten-free pancakes.” Stiles turns around and reaches out for the ground coffee he accidentally packed but didn’t bother to throw away. “Oh! And this special blend of decaf coffee that I picked up at some organic store.”

Stark stares at him incredulously before making a noise of disgust. He turns on his heel and goes straight for the elevator.

“So that’s a no on breakfast?” Stiles calls out after him. Stark flips him off just before the elevator doors close. He cackles and rushes over to his computer so he can pull up the feed on the camera Derek set up in the lab so that they could record Stark’s reaction.

“That was mean,” a voice teases behind him. Stiles yelps and falls back against the table.

“Bell!” Stiles snaps at Barnes, who ignores him in favor of staring at the screen. Derek is fully shifted in view of the camera, lounging in the middle of Stark’s workshop. Barnes raises an eyebrow and Stiles shrugs. “I hold grudges. So does Derek, and he had to drink a lot of alcohol yesterday.”

Stiles keeps an eye on the laptop screen, unsure how long it’ll take Stark to get to his workshop.

“Why didn’t you drink?” Barnes asks after a few moments of silence.

“Hmm? Oh.” Stiles shrugs, trying to be casual and failing. “I don’t drink hard liquor, especially not as much as Stark was throwing back.” If anyone else asked him, he would leave it at that, but since it’s just the two of them, Stiles decides to treat it like a conference room conversation. “I don’t like losing control of myself, and I don’t like where my thoughts go when my inhibitions are dampened. So Derek will drink for me when people refuse to take no for an answer since it won’t affect him, because he was there when I lost myself to alcohol and helped me get back to being me. He knows how much I don’t like it.”

Barnes slowly nods, and he doesn’t know how much Barnes can relate to that, but it feels like they see each other a bit better. Stiles snaps back to the laptop when he hears the hydraulic doors open through the speakers.

The lights flicker on and Stark takes half a dozen steps before he realizes he’s not alone in the lab. Stark and Derek have a stare down before Derek slowly rises to four paws. Lying down, his head came to Stark’s hip. Standing, his head reaches Starks’ own. Still, the other man doesn’t say anything.

Derek flares his red eyes and Stark yells for Friday and takes off out of the room, trying to summon his armor and screaming about the hellhound that’s in his shop. Stiles laughs as he leaves the room and Derek shifts back, pulling his clothes back on quickly and grabbing the stuffed black puppy dog that they went out to get the night before. They also painted the eyes red, just for funsies.

He puts it right where he was laying down, so it would be the first thing that anyone saw when they walked in. Derek slips into a corner by the camera, and Stiles focuses his power on making a shield around him, keeping him hidden from sight and masking his scent and body heat, just so he wouldn’t be detected by Friday.

Stark enters the room again, except this time, he’s joined by Rogers and Romanoff, and Stiles has to clap a hand over his mouth so he doesn’t crack up laughing. This is even better, because judging by Rogers’ face when he ran into the room, he knew exactly what Stark saw in the workshop.

Romanoff walks over and picks up the stuffed dog, holding it up to her face. “Yes, it’s positively terrifying.”

Barnes starts chuckling over his shoulder, and Stiles smiles at the sound. He’s never heard the other man laugh. He doesn’t even want to turn around, because he’s sure it would spook the man. Instead, he keeps watching as Stark gestures widely with Rogers shaking his head.

Stiles blinks in surprise when he spots the shield. It’s the first time he’s seen it held in anything other than security footage. He cocks his head, leaning forward to get a good look. “It’s smaller than I thought,” he mumbles.

“What?”

Stiles points at the screen where Rogers is holding his shield. “I thought it would be bigger. I’ve seen footage where he ducks his whole body behind it. I don’t know how he gets so small behind the shield to protect himself.”

He doesn’t talk to get answers, but Barnes surprises him yet again by giving him an explanation. “Sometimes he doesn’t get completely behind it. He mostly focuses on critical body parts. And he’s pretty good at making himself small. He’s used to being small and fitting into small spaces.”

Nodding, because that makes sense with Rogers’ previous body versus his supersoldier one. Stiles keeps watching long enough to make sure that Stark, Rogers, and Romanoff leave the workshop so Derek can slip out. He kills the feed from Friday and drops the shield. Derek pops into view on the camera and walks over to pick it up before leaving.

Stiles closes his laptop and races back to the kitchen just as the elevator doors open. He pours the over-beaten eggs into a pan and turns the stove on. Stark stops at the sight of Barnes, who moved to stand next to Stiles, but his anger wins over his apprehension.

“What the hell did you just do?”

“I haven’t done anything,” Stiles tells him. “I haven’t even left this room. Ask him.” He points to Barnes with the spatula. “I’m making you breakfast, remember?”

Rogers and Romanoff walk up behind him, and Rogers stands beside Barnes. He gives Stiles a knowing look, which Stiles returns with an innocent grin. The elevator dings again and Derek walks in, heading straight for Stiles. He gives him a kiss on the temple before helping him with the breakfast setup.

Tony just mutters to himself and turns on his heel, stomping back to the elevator. Before the doors close, he yells out, “And stop fucking with my AI!”

Stiles smirks and dumps the bowl of pancake batter into the hot pan on the stove. “Sorry! I can’t hear you over this delicious, heart-healthy breakfast!”

Stark sticks out his hand, flipping him off, just as the doors close. Stiles snickers. Stark-0, Stiles-a fucking million.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a rough week and have kept my head above water thanks to funny videos and various fic updates. I hope this helps everyone else as much as the fics I love did for me. As always, stay safe and healthy. I'm here in the comments or at my [tumblr](https://dream-mancer.tumblr.com) if anyone needs to talk.


	12. Flares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting down to the nitty gritty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so glad that everyone enjoyed last chapter. I was shocked by how many people liked it, actually. It's just a chapter I wrote (next chapter is my fave) and so many people said they loved it. This chapter switches back into the meat of the plot, though. That being said, multiple characters speak different languages in this chapter. As someone who reads the majority of my fic on a tablet, hovering translations always piss me off because they don't work. I also don't enjoy having to scroll down to see end notes with translations. And let's be honest, google translation can only do so much and I don't know any native speakers of the languages in this chapter. It would annoy me to put out something that isn't factual. So when dialogue is italicized, use your imagination, k?
> 
> Chapter title comes from Flares by the Script. It is such a theme song for this fic it's nuts. Give it a listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r7jaXI6oXpQ).

Stark is still ticked off at him because of the revenge he exacted, and all the other Avengers have been teasing him about crying literal wolf. He tried to throw away the stuffed animal, but the newest game in the tower is propping it up wherever Stark isn’t expecting it. Stiles didn’t expect everyone to get in on the fun when he plotted this, but the more the merrier.

Today isn’t one of the conference room days, but he’s slowly gotten used to being around literal superheroes so he feels more comfortable being in the common rooms to do his homework or lounge with Derek. He and Derek don’t hide out in the apartment very much anymore. Darcy mentioned that she wants to do a group dinner for everyone, and so they’re going to plan that for the future when Stiles has the time to do a big meal that takes up half the day preparation-wise.

Stiles is doing some pleasure reading on his laptop and Derek is texting back and forth with Scott about a dispute that another pack wants them to mediate. Scott always does the mediation for the pack, but there’s talk of sending Stiles there, which means Derek will go back, too. The pack is pretty aggressive, and Kira is a badass, but she can only do so much, especially if there’s an ambush.

Barton is in the room, working on his arrows, and Stiles has been peppering him with questions in between paragraphs. The questions are things he remembered Allison talking about almost a decade ago, and the distance from her death doesn’t help the hurt.

Derek nudges him in the thigh with his foot, looking over his phone to gauge Stiles’ emotions. He reigns in the grief to manageable levels, which judging by Derek’s facial expression wasn’t what he wanted Stiles to do, but it’s the best they’re going to get in the situation.

Their nonverbal showdown is interrupted when Barnes and Romanoff enter the room bickering, only they’re not speaking English. Their conversation is in Russian. Stiles’ eyebrows go up, because even though he’s heard that Romanoff and Barnes can speak Russian, he’s always conversed with them both in English.

There’s a very high chance that no one knows he can speak anything other than English, especially since a few days earlier, he cracked a joke that he took Spanish in high school for the easy A and only remembers how to say yes, no, and ask for the bathroom.

He stops asking questions to listen in on the conversation between Barnes and Romanoff, because he knows people will say a lot more when they think no one can understand them. He’s done the same plenty of times and only feels a tiny bit bad about it.

The conversation isn’t all that riveting. Romanoff keeps teasing Barnes, but he gives as much as he takes. Stiles manages to keep his calm for ten minutes, until Romanoff tells a filthy joke the moment he takes a drink of water. He sprays the water all over his computer – and wow, he needs to stop doing spit-takes all the damn time – and starts laughing.

Their gazes snap over to him, staring openly as he cackles.

“ _Since when can you understand us_?” Romanoff asks in Russian.

Stiles has to cough and clear his throat before he can properly answer. “ _Since always_.”

Barton stops when Stiles replies in flawless Russian, staring. “Wait, you understand them?”

“What, like it’s hard?” he mocks, trying to channel his inner Elle Woods. Derek rolls his eyes and kicks him in the thigh. “My first language isn’t English. It’s actually my third. Russian was my fourth.”

Barton leans forward, putting his arrows to the side. “Wait, how many languages can you speak?”

“Fluently?” Stiles mentally calculates in his head. “Seven. I can half-ass my way through three more, and I can read a lot, but if I’m expected to actually pronounce the word, I’m going to get my teeth kicked in by the natives.”

Barnes frowns and walks over to the couches, leaning against the back of one to stare directly at Stiles. “You said that you depended on Derek to help you navigate when you’re out of the country.”

“Because I don’t speak Spanish, Portuguese, or this crazy language he picked up in South America that I still can’t say correctly.”

“Chapacura-Uanhaman,” Derek says, not looking up from his book.

“Exactly. That.” Stiles turns back to Barnes with a shrug. “Going south of the border? Yes, I am absolutely lost. Europe? Especially the eastern sides? I’m right at home.”

He’s getting glares from all sides of the room, so he sighs and closes his laptop. “My last name is Stilinski. Some people have ethnic names from generations back. Both my paternal and maternal grandparents immigrated. Hell, my mother wasn’t born a U.S. citizen. Her parents moved to California when she was four. I grew up learning Ukrainian, Polish, and English. And I caught on to Russian pretty quick. Once you know one eastern Slavic language, you can pretty much pick up the rest.”

Romanoff walks around the couches and sits next to him. He gives her a pretty strong side-eye, and Derek doesn’t hide the way he puts his book down and sits up on Stiles’ other side. Romanoff narrows her eyes at the movement, but turns her attention back to Stiles. “What other languages can you speak?”

“That was it for a while. When I was in high school, I learned more. I picked up some French and German, but I’m not fluent in those like some of my friends. I started dating a girl who spoke Latin, and she taught me some. We got into an argument about the Romantic Languages, and she refused to accept that Russian is totally a romantic language, and she made me learn one. I chose Romanian because it was as close as I could get. From there, I picked up Italian quickly. And then I chose Finnish for the hell of it.”

He actually chose Finnish because of a text he needed to translate. It was another language that he loved the flow of, loved how it sounded, and continued studying past the translation. He’s done the same with other languages, but never threw himself so far into it like he did with Finnish.

“ _You speak Romanian_?” Barnes asks quickly, just as flawlessly as his Russian.

Stiles blinks in surprise, because that one kind of throws him for a loop. “ _Yes. Even though I only started learning for a dare, I quickly picked it up. It’s one of my favorites_.”

Barnes doesn’t say anything, standing up and leaving the room. Stiles doesn’t ask if he did something, because he doesn’t know if anyone else understands the reasoning behind that move. If they did, they probably wouldn’t tell him. He’ll find out quickly if that means his services are no longer needed, or if they’ve just unintentionally had a breakthrough.

The answer comes the next day when he sets up in the conference room and Barnes comes in before he’s even booted his laptop. “Well, at least you didn’t scare the bejesus out of me this time,” Stiles says with a smirk.

He sits in his chair and continues to unpack, expecting Barnes to settle in and watch like normal. Barnes watches him dig into his messenger bag, but breaks the silence. “ _I have a request_ ,” he says in Romanian.

Normally, Stiles would quickly answer while continuing to pack, but the heavy tone in Barnes’ voice makes him pause and look up. “ _Yes_?” he answers.

“ _Can we speak in Romanian for the next few sessions_?”

Stiles wants to do a fucking victory dance on the table, because _hell yes_ they can speak in whatever language Barnes wants to if they’re actually going to have a conversation. He’s never been so thankful that he finds dirty jokes so damn funny before.

Instead of flailing, Stiles nods. “ _It doesn’t matter what language we speak in. We might have a bit of trouble if you slip into a lot of slang words, but I’ll let you know. Okay?_ ”

Barnes nods, and Stiles finishes unpacking, humming happily.

“ _Aren’t you going to ask why_?” he asks suspiciously.

Stiles isn’t sure how he wants to proceed. After his mother died, he refused to speak Ukrainian for two years, and didn’t like for anyone to say his actual name. It was only after he started seeing the man who would become his main therapist before supernatural shit fell in his lap that he learned to love the language again, and could stand to hear his name without flinching. He would talk to his dad in languages other than English.

In his mind, not using his mother’s language was a way to distance himself from the hurt he felt from his mother’s death and his role in it. Stiles believes that Barnes may do the same. But he’s also not going to ask why, because that would be a huge step back.

“ _No, because it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you’re comfortable. If speaking in Romanian makes you comfortable, then we’ll continue to do so_.”

Barnes nods. “ _I was in Bucharest when Steve finally caught up to me again. He thought I would go back to New York, but I didn’t remember New York after D.C._ ”

“ _What did you remember_?” Stiles asks.

“ _A smell. Sound. The taste of a fruit purchased from a street stall.” Barnes’ eyes drop down as he recalls the memory. “I knew it was in Europe. I flew into Frankfurt and worked my way from there. I still didn’t know where it was or why that place was where I needed to go._ ”

“ _What was the smell_?” he asks as Barnes closes his eyes.

“ _Cigarette smoke from the vendor across the street in the newspaper stand_.”

Stiles nods, sitting as still as possible to not distract from the recall. “ _Why was that significant? What was it about that smell that stood out to you_?”

Barnes frowns, and Stiles lets him take his time. Five minutes pass before his eyes snap open in wonder as he looks at Stiles. “ _It was almost like the Lucky Strikes I used to smoke before the war_.”

“ _Good_ ,” Stiles says with a grin. “ _Let’s do this again. Will you close your eyes and try to recall the sound?_ ”

Barnes swallows tightly, eyes clenching tightly now as he grinds his teeth. “ _A little girl laughing_.” The memory doesn’t take as long to recall, but something about it isn’t as freeing as the first memory. “She sounded just like Becca,” he continues in English, a faint accent tinging the words.

Stiles makes a mental note of the name but moves on, sticking to Romanian. “ _What was the fruit that you tasted? Was it sweet? Tangy? What was the texture of the skin or the meat of the fruit_?”

This time, Barnes keeps his eyes open. Stiles can clearly see the sheen of tears in his eyes. “ _Plum. It was fresh, which was strange_.” When he blinks, he switches back to English again. “I’d only ever had slightly bruised ones, and my ma would make pies with them.” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to shake other memories loose as he switches back to Romanian. “ _They were my favorite_.”

Stiles notices when his breathing hitches, when the look in his eyes goes far away, and his shoulders tense up so much his shoulder pops. This was an excellent first exercise, and Stiles doesn’t want to push, especially with Barnes switching languages so much.

“ _Okay, thanks for doing that for me. Now I want you to focus on the smell of this room. What do you smell?_ ”

Barnes frowns, but doesn’t snap back to the present. Stiles doesn’t expect him to. “ _Clean. Ink from your pens and highlighters. Coffee that was spilled_.”

His eyebrows go up, because that’s more detail than he was expecting. It was almost Derek levels of sense. “ _Good. I spilled some coffee on my bag this morning and didn’t clean all of it up properly. What do you hear?_ ”

Stiles stops being so still, and lets his body move naturally. His breathing is audible, and the chairs move as he fidgets slightly. Barnes relays this back to him, and the tension starts to bleed out of his shoulders.

“ _Excellent. Now, what do you feel? How does the table feel under your hands_?”

Stiles walks him through his senses, asking what he sees and tastes, and by the time they’ve run through the senses, a solid ten minutes pass and Barnes is blinking like he’s just woken up.

“What was that?” he asks, back in English and eyes clear once more. Stiles follows his lead and answers in the same this time.

“It was just a simple recall exercise. It’s a good base exercise to do to recall a traumatic memory. It’s also good for grounding and practicing mindfulness, reminding yourself that you’re here, present, and in a safe place,” Stiles explains. “I didn’t mean to go into it, but it was such a natural opening in the conversation that I thought it would go smoothly. You didn’t go into with expectations, which allowed you to recall the memory easier. I guided you back when you started to tense up.”

Barnes nods, and Stiles considers it a miracle that he doesn’t leave suddenly. “If you didn’t like it, then I won’t do it again. I know that I told you that I would explain what I would do when we signed the paperwork, so I apologize for not stopping to explain things.”

“ _What_?” Barnes asks, switching back to Romanian. “ _Why? You said it yourself that you thought it would go smoothly_.”

“ _But I also said that I would warn you ahead of time. Just because it worked well doesn’t excuse me from keeping a promise._ ”

Barnes looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that information. “ _Thank you_ ,” he says stiltedly. “ _I accept, but no apology necessary_.”

“ _Thank you_. _Would this be a good time to go over some other exercises that I think would work well? Or would you rather I write them out so that you can read them when you’d like and get back to me?_ ”

The man thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “ _Go ahead and tell me._ ”

Stiles nods. “ _Stop me if you need to. I want to remind you that this is a safe place, and if you want me to pause, I will._ ”

Barnes pauses, and shakes his head. “ _I want to know all of it, but I will stop you if I need to_.”

Taking him for his word, Stiles continues on. “ _All right then, first up, we’ll try_ …”

Stiles goes through every imaginable exercise, written and oral, he can come up with. Sometimes he gets hung up on the verbiage in Romanian, and has to switch to English to get the proper nouns and verbs. Barnes takes it all in stride and nods along, sometimes taking notes with the pen and paper that Stiles slides over to him.

The words are a mixture of languages – some he recognizes and some he doesn’t. He looks away from the words on the paper, giving Barnes his privacy. He goes through all the exercises he thinks they’ll use, and some he’s not sure of, just to cover all his bases.

Some things Barnes nods along with, and others he flat out refuses. Exposure therapy was something he vehemently denied wanting, and Stiles nods. He didn’t think that would be at all appropriate, but he was going to try to stay as close to his word as possible.

By the end of the session, Stiles has a much better idea of how to proceed, and feels confident for future sessions. He doesn’t voice any of this to Barnes, but when the other man goes quiet, he starts to do his research quietly, letting the man slip out of the room without fanfare.

When he’s sure Barnes isn’t coming back, Stiles sighs heavily and leans back in his chair. He goes through the typical feelings of doubt – how could he ever help someone when he feels so twisted himself, how Barnes needs an _actual_ doctor to help him because Stiles is just going to screw him up more – before he does his own deep breathing exercises and grounds himself.

He packs up his things after staying only an hour – if Barnes really wants to talk, he can ring the damn doorbell – and heads back to his room. Derek frowns when he enters, sitting up from his place on the couch where he was watching a video on his phone.

Stiles drops his bag at the door and pads over to the couch, all but falling on Derek with a huff. “What the hell am I doing here, Derek?”

God bless the man, because he drops his phone onto the coffee table and brings his arms up to surround Stiles, rubbing his back. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how the hell does anyone expect someone like _me_ to help someone like _him_? He’s a frickin’ war hero, and a prisoner of war for over seventy years. How can I—“

“Stop,” Derek gently interrupts. “You are exactly where you need to be.” Stiles snuggles down into Derek, not feeling at all confident. “I know you can’t tell me what happened so I can’t get context, but whatever happened, I want you to know that you have helped so many people before, and you’ll continue to help many people after.”

Stiles nods, even if he doesn’t feel reassured. “It doesn’t feel like it, though.”

Derek leans up so he can kiss Stiles on the crown of his head. “I know. It hardly ever does. But you do good things. And you’ve already said that you’ve made progress. That’s better than anyone else has done with him so far.”

“I know,” he says with a sigh. After a pause, he props up his chin, giving Derek a tired smile. “Thank you. You always say the right things.”

“You inspire it in me.”

Stiles leans up and gives him a kiss. “Best boyfriend ever.”

Derek leans back with a snort. “You mean you aren’t with me for the money?”

He laughs. “No, but it sure as hell is why my ex-girlfriend is.” When Derek rolls his eyes, Stiles snuggles in happily. “Hey, you’re the one who gave Lydia a credit card. You reap what you sow, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek mutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that switching between languages didn't put too many people off, especially the way I chose to format it in the fic. I also wanted to show a little bit of doubt on Stiles' side because imposter syndrome hits everyone, even (especially) the people who are more than qualified to do what they're doing. For those who don't know, imposter syndrome is when someone doubts their ability and is worried about exposed as a fraud or downplay their successes as luck or something similar. It is extremely common - way more than you think - and I think that everyone has experienced it in their lives before. I know I have. As badass as Stiles is, even he experiences it. 
> 
> Again, I'm so blown away by the outpouring of love this fic has received. I wish it made it easier to write, but alas. It is not. I feel like I'm banging my head against a wall so I'm reaching out to my readers for help. Have an idea? Want to see Stiles/Derek interact with certain people? It can even be from someone else's point of view. If I can't include it in the fic somewhere, I may make an outtakes series. I'm just running dry creatively so thought I'd ask for help. Hit me with your best shot! It can be here in the comments or over on tumblr.
> 
> (I should add ideas that are already written: Scott meeting the group, Stiles explaining his relation to Bucky, and various peeks into Stiles and Bucky's sessions)


	13. Worst In Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who is Annoying Little Shit?” Darcy asks, a wide grin on her face.
> 
> Derek frowns and looks up from his phone, from where he’s seated on one of the sofas. “Why is Liam calling you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! It has been a hellish week so I'm posted this early because maybe it'll bring some joy to you. This is one of my favorite chapters and it was so fun to write. 
> 
> Chapter title is from the song Worst in Me by Unlike Pluto. Give it a listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=waIBbsVoTkA).

Stiles and Darcy are cooking dinner for everyone, because after Darcy heard the story of bitchy Stiles and the best breakfast ever – her title – Stiles has to agree that getting everyone together for dinner would be an amazing thing. Stiles thinks this is going to be the best dinner and a show he’ll get in New York City, so he agrees to help.

Most of the group is already in the large common area, trying to be stealthy but really being very obvious as they try to get a glimpse of what he and Darcy are making. He’s using his phone to look up a recipe, and he jumps when it starts to vibrate across the countertop.

The screen flashes with a picture of Liam. If Liam is willingly calling him, Stiles always tries to answer, especially since Scott is usually his go-to person for everything.

“Who is _Annoying Little Shit_?” Darcy asks, a wide grin on her face.

Derek frowns and looks up from his phone, from where he’s seated on one of the sofas. “Why is Liam calling you?”

That gets the attention of most of the others in the room. “Okay, one, _you_ calling someone an annoying little shit is the highest form of hypocrisy,” Stark says to Stiles before turning to Derek. “Second, the fact that _you_ know who that is just by what the person is called in his contacts is hilarious.”

Derek rolls his eyes, gesturing to the phone.

“Can you answer that? Put it on speaker,” Stiles says, holding up his hands that are still covered in melted marshmallow. Darcy does as requested, placing the phone close to him with the microphone pointed toward them. “Hey, bud. You’re on speaker and I’m in a semi-public place, FYI. Control your crazy.”

“Um. Okay?” Liam stops, takes a few deep breaths, and then starts again. “Have you talked to Scott lately?”

Frowning, Stiles tries to think of the last time he chatted with the other alpha. Now he’s starting to worry, because what if Scott’s off-grid? “I think I texted him last night? It was only a check in. Why?”

Liam huffs, and Stiles knows it’s going to be one of _those_ calls. “Okay, so, there’s this girl--”

“Oh Jesus, kid,” Stiles blurts out. The conversation takes a way different turn than he expected. He is _not_ the person the pack goes to for relationship advice, even if his own is kickass. “I am not drunk enough for this type of conversation.”

“ _Don’t_ call me kid!” Liam snaps. “You’re only four years older than me!”

“Fine. You’re a manly man whose voice definitely didn’t just crack like you’re going through puberty all over again, even though I remember those years already happening because you were a ball of happy sunshine.”

Stiles probably didn’t have to go _that_ heavy on the sarcasm, but his tolerance for Liam is about half that of any other pack member, especially when there are females involved. He continues to mix the marshmallows and rice crispy cereal together, waiting for Liam to actually get to the point. The other end is silent for a few more moments. “Do you need some ice to go on that burn?” he asks with a grin.

“Fuck off!” Stiles cackles, ignoring the wide-eyed looks he gets from everyone in the room. “You’re such a dick!”

“Yes, I am,” he happily replies. “Now, what do you want?”

Liam huffs again, and Stiles grins when even Derek rolls his eyes. Their little puppy is so dramatic. “Okay, so there’s this girl and she’s doing this cool backpacking trip across Europe before her senior year of college. She invited me and I want to go, but Scott said no!”

Blinking in surprise, Stiles actually stops stirring to stare down incredulously at his phone. “You _what_?”

“It’s only for three weeks! She’s got it totally planned out, and there’s some really cool cultural stuff--”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles interrupts, and he almost puts his hands on his hips, and barely saves covering himself in cereal and marshmallows. Derek looks as surprised as he does, which explains a lot about why Liam is calling _him_. Stiles is the master at convincing other adults to do what he wants. Liam learned that pretty early on and has used Stiles for his own gain before. “You asked Scott, who said no. You probably asked our parents, and I’m guessing they said no, too.” At the pause on Liam’s end, Stiles knows he hit _that_ particular nail on the head. “What the fuckity fuck made you think that _I_ would say yes?” he shouts.

“Because you did it when you were my age!”

“So? I did a lot of shit when I was 22, including already graduating college and moving across the country while getting specialist certifications and prepping for my Master’s degree. Yeah, I did a quick two week trip to Europe, but I sure as hell didn’t do it with someone I didn’t know. For fuck’s sake, do you even _have_ a passport?”

Derek has a hand over his face, like he can’t believe that one of his betas is even attempting this conversation. Stiles can’t either. Scott is the pushover in the pack hierarchy. Stiles is… not.

Liam definitely growls over the phone, but it’s not as deep because of his distress. Yay for small favors. “Why are you being such an asshole about this?”

“Because you’re my little brother and a fucking idiot,” Stiles snaps back at him. He’s very aware that all conversation has stopped and everyone is watching him having a showdown with his phone on the counter.

“And that explains the annoying little shit as the ID,” Clint mutters to the rest of them.

Stiles ignores them, because he can only deal with one whiny child at a time. “The only person who could even cover your ass in Europe can’t stand you.”

“Oh my god, I don’t need a babysitter!”

He seriously considers using his elbow to hang-up, because this conversation is absolutely ridiculous. “Since you’re acting like a butthurt toddler who can’t get a new toy, I would say yes, you do. This isn’t a day trip to Mexico. You want to go to Europe for three weeks with some chick!”

“So?!”

Stiles rears back, angry and exasperated. He gestures to the phone when he makes eye contact with Derek. After taking a few deep breaths, because he can’t strangle his phone, he tries again. “So, you’re going to Europe. You only speak English. You failed French in high school, and you barely passed Spanish even though half of the family can speak it fluently.”

“You can’t,” comes the mullish retort.

“I swear, I’m going to smack the everloving shit out of you,” Stiles growls out. “Guess what? I didn’t go to any Spanish-speaking countries! And even if I did, Derek was with me, and since he’s one of the aforementioned people who can speak Spanish, I would have been okay! So the answer is still no!”

“Then why did I even call you?” Liam shouts back.

“Fuck if I know!”

Derek is up and walking toward the kitchen, because once he and Liam devolve into screaming at each other, nothing gets done and bloodshed happens. Thank every deity ever that they’re on opposite sides of the country.

“That’s enough,” Derek says firmly, pushing Stiles away so he can get a breather. If his hands weren’t covered in sticky dessert, he would punch something. “Liam, you’re not going to Europe, and I’m telling John and Scott about this conversation. You ask again, and I’m telling Melissa.”

The order has the weight of an alpha behind it, something Scott probably didn’t think he’d need to do. Liam is silent on the other side, probably more because of the threat of Mama McCall than anything else.

“Fine,” he snaps. “But Dad’s letting me take the Jeep back to L.A. this weekend.”

“ _The fuck did you just say?!_ ” Stiles shouts, lunging back toward the phone. A beep echoes, signalling the end of the call, and Derek physically restrains him with an arm around his waist so he doesn’t throw his phone into the wall. Derek hefts Stiles off his feet, even though he’s squirming like crazy, angrier than he’s been in a very long time. Stiles doesn’t care that he’s practically propped on Derek’s hip like a child. “I’m going to _kill him_!”

“Jesus Christ, will you calm down?!” Derek asks as he keeps a struggling Stiles back. Darcy dashes to the other side of the island to escape Stiles’ flailing limbs. Rolling his eyes, Derek pulls out his phone and quickly dials a number, putting it on speaker.

When Stiles sees that Derek is calling his dad, he stops trying to reach his own phone and makes grabby hands at Derek’s. The phone is held out of reach, but that doesn’t stop Stiles. The moment his dad picks up, Stiles begins shouting again.

“He--”

“ _Why the hell are you letting Liam take my Jeep to L.A.?!_ ” He all but screams.

“Wh- Son, what the hell are you talking about?” John asks. “Liam isn’t taking the Jeep anywhere.”

“He just said--” Stiles screeches.

“Shut up,” Derek snaps, shaking him like an unruly puppy.

Stiles crosses his arms, finally smearing his shirt and arms with marshmallow. “ _Fucking_ \--”

Derek deposits him in front of the sink. “Wash it off and _stay here_.” An order from an alpha may not have much weight behind it for him, but Stiles can tell Derek is annoyed at him, and that doesn’t spell good things for his sex life.

The alpha moves Stiles’ phone further away on the island but keeps his own speakerphone so Stiles can hear the conversation. “Liam just called Stiles.”

“Why?”

His dad sounds just as bewildered as Stiles’ felt.

“Because he wanted to ask Stiles to convince everyone else that he could go to Europe for three weeks because of a girl,” Derek explains. “You can imagine how well it went, especially since Liam’s parting shot was that you said he could take the Jeep to L.A.”

John lets out a heavy sigh. Stiles is very familiar with that sigh. He’s so happy that it’s not aimed at him. “I’m going to kill that kid.”

“Get in line!” Stiles shouts from the sink. Derek glares at him.

“Stiles,” John says firmly, “Liam is not taking your Jeep anywhere. The only people who have driven that Jeep are myself and Scott.” Just as Stiles whirls around, eyes wide with panic, his dad continues, “And yes, he was very gentle with it. He only used it when he couldn’t take the bike, which has been twice in the past four years. No one is messing with your baby.”

His hands are finally clean, but his shirt is a lost cause. Thankful that he actually layered today, Stiles pulls off the outer shirt that’s covered in most of the mess. With that out of the way, Stiles crosses his arms and pouts properly this time.

“So he will not take the Jeep anywhere. He will take his perfectly nice car to L.A. and he will _not_ be going on a tour of Europe.” After a pause, John chuckles. “And this is why the two of you live on opposite coasts. Has he calmed down?”

Stiles makes a face, because that was clearly not aimed at him. Derek smirks and takes the phone off speaker, holding it up to his ear so the rest of the phone call is private. “Yeah, he’s about to pound some rice crispy treats so he’ll work out some aggression.”

He is _not_ in the mood to finish cooking, and thank goodness this was the last of it and everything else for the dinner is already made. Stiles slumps against the counter, jolting when every Avenger and their various hangers-on are staring at him. “What?” he snaps.

Sam is the first to speak, shaking his head ruefully. “Man, I thought me and my little brother went at it. Your dad wasn’t joking about you two living on opposite sides of the country, was he?”

“I kind of want to find this Liam kid and fly him here, because I think what we just witnessed would be amazing live,” Stark says. “You look lovely as a tomato, by the way.”

Stiles huffs, rubbing at his warm cheeks. “Fuck off,” he mutters. “Just for that, I’m not finishing dessert.”

“Boo,” Clint calls.

“And what the hell is with this Jeep of yours anyway?” Stark asks. “A Jeep? Really?”

Instead of telling them the whole story – that the Jeep was his mother’s, that he held it together with duct tape and a dream but eventually it fell apart due to supernatural shenanigans, and how he cried the day the mechanic told him that the transmission was shot and the repair job would be a replacement job costing thousands of dollars - he pulls his phone off the counter for show and tell.

First he sends a scathing text to Liam about how he totally tattled on him to his dad. Because that needs to be said. He pulls up a picture of the Jeep, showing the screen to the group.

“This is my baby.” After a moment, to avoid the taunts that were sure to pour in, Stiles lets slip, “It was my mom’s.”

Stark takes the phone, carefully not saying a word until he sees the actual picture. It’s something Stiles snapped before the engine was replaced.

“This is half duct tape,” Stark says, blinking.

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t even match. There are different types of duct tape with various amounts of wear on it.”

Stiles smirks. “Also yes.” He doesn’t know what sound comes out of Stark’s mouth, but it is absolutely glorious to behold. “If that makes your head hurt, you should see the interior. Swipe right.”

 _That_ noise makes Stiles wish he had his phone to record, because this is _gold_.

“How did you not kill yourself in this?” Stark asks, before clutching the phone to his chest when Banner tries to see the screen. “Friday, send this to the main screen.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow, but allows the AI to do as Stark requests. The picture flashes on the screen, random engine parts strung together and hanging on with a prayer. “Just look at that!” Stark says. “How did this thing even run?”

“Like a bitchy in-law. But it got the job done.”

“This,” Stark points to the picture, “is a death trap. You can’t seriously drive this thing around.”

Derek sighs. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I like giving people heart attacks.” Stiles gestures to the screen. “This is my Jeep about nine years ago before Derek paid for a complete remodel. Friday, go forward three pictures please.” On the screen, the pictures of the replaced engine, transmission, and interior of the Jeep flash. “I’m not an idiot. You think I wanted to drive something that could easily kill me?”

Derek snorts. “You cr—“

“Ah ah ah!” Stiles shouts, lunging forward to cover his mouth with his hands. “Don’t even try to break the boyfriend code.”

Derek rolls his eyes and moves Stiles’ hand. “It took me a very long time to convince you that everything needed to be replaced. Don’t try to play it off.”

Stiles waves his hand. “Don’t ruin my cool points.”

Darcy laughs loudly and he throws his marshmallow shirt at her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much for your support on this fic. I'm blown away by all the kudos, comments, and love it's gotten. It blows my mind. Continue to feel free to give me suggestions or things you want to see in this fic. I've been creatively run dry but I'm hoping that it'll kick something loose. 
> 
> This chapter came from a relationship I have with a coworker. I love her to death but I want to kill her nearly every day. It's a balance. 
> 
> Again, thank you for reading and supporting this fic as much as you all do. I hope you are safe and healthy!


	14. Riding Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles talks to not one, but two supersoldiers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my darlings. I'm sorry this is a day late. It's been crazy at work. To give context, I work in DFW, Texas in the county with the highest percentage of active Covid-19 cases. The number of cases was decreasing but since the reopening of Texas, it's started to go back up. We've had numerous staff out due to Covid-19 recently, including two of mine in the last three days. I would have posted this sooner, but to be honest, I was either working or sleeping. Thank you to all the other essential and frontline workers and to everyone staying home! Enjoy a new chapter. 
> 
> Chapter title comes from the song "Iron" by Woodkid. Give it a listen [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F493NCLqmu0)

Stiles is in the middle of research for another client of his when Barnes starts off the meeting. “Your little brother…” he trails off, trying to gather his words. Stiles raises his eyebrows in interest, but doesn’t look away from his laptop. He’s also surprised that they’re conversing in English today. It’s been awhile since Barnes has felt comfortable speaking in something other than Romanian or Italian. “Are you like that all the time?”

Stiles snorts. “Most of the time, we have referees.” He pushes the laptop away, tilting the lid down but not closing it all the way. “You saw when Derek stepped in? He knows our limits. Everyone does. And you also heard how confused my dad was about the whole thing. Liam _never_ calls me. He’s got Scott wrapped around his finger. To be fair, Liam’s not usually this _stupid_. If Scott, the king of stupid decisions, says no, that should be a giant red flag.”

Barnes’ expression doesn’t change, but his body language loosens just a tiny bit. Stiles reaches out and closes the laptop completely, because it’s going to be one of those times where they can get through an entire topic. He gives Barnes his complete attention.

“He’s your other brother?”

Stiles nods. He’s mentioned Scott plenty of times, and while he mostly jokes about Liam being his little brother, Scott _is_. Legally even, now. “But do not be fooled. Liam gets all his bad decision making skills from Scott. _That_ idiot decided the best way to get girls in high school would be to join sports. Specifically, join a sport that involves heavy contact and a lot of running. Scott has moderate asthma.”

Barnes rolls his eyes, a reaction Stiles himself had when he heard Scott’s genius plan the summer before their sophomore year in high school. But anyone who studied Captain America knew that one of his worst ailments was asthma, and if Barnes was Rogers’ Stiles, then he got the stupidity.

“You talk him out of it?” Barnes asks gruffly. His eyes are trained to a spot over Stiles’ shoulder, an expression on his face that Stiles equates with him thinking about pre-World War II. He’s wistful, not guilty.

“No,” Stiles says after a few moments. “I joined the team with him and carried an extra inhaler - modern asthma medication - for when he couldn’t breathe.”

Barnes nods slowly, gaze dropping to the top of the table, but he hasn’t tensed up. “Sounds about right.”

Stiles knows that fond, yet exasperated tone very intimately. He holds back his own grin, and takes the opening Barnes left him and runs with it. “What’s one thing that you did to help Steve when his asthma was bad? I’m not familiar with what medications or treatments were used.”

Through their tiny sessions, Stiles learned that he can ask questions about the good things Barnes did, as long as he phrases the question in such a way that it’s not really about Barnes. In this case, he wants to know more about asthma medications and treatments, not how Barnes himself actually helped Rogers. They get the same end goal: a reminder of something good Barnes has done in his life, when he was a man free to make his own choices.

Barnes toys with the pen and paper that Stiles always brings to keep his hands occupied while he straightens out his thoughts. “Well, every doc thought it was just in his head, that he was just depressed and wanted attention.”

While he normally doesn’t try to show an opinion when Barnes tells these stories, Stiles rolls his eyes so hard it hurts.

“Yeah. When he was really young, he couldn’t afford the big epinephrine nebulizers. Even when they made ‘em smaller and cheaper in ‘30, Sarah had to choose which medication he could get. It wasn’t at the top of the list, especially since the epinephrine screwed with his heart, and it was already bad enough.” Barnes pauses, picking up the pen and scratching out random lines on the notepad. “I would win asthma cigarettes in poker games for him. Or if no one had any, I’d fleece them and use the cash for them and some whiskey. He always slept better after the alcohol loosened him up.”

Stiles takes a moment to thank anyone listening that he was born in the century where epinephrine nebulizers and asthma cigarettes weren’t a thing. “The cigarettes never bothered him? Smelling any type of smoke always sent Scott into a coughing fit.”

Barnes shrugs. “I would go out onto the escape when I smoked mine, or try to finish before I got home, because he was the same way. Told me he could take it until he turned purple. He didn’t like smoking his anyway. Everybody knew he had asthma because of the smell, and that bothered him. Not like he wasn’t a runt and frail as a baby bird besides.”

The more he hears about Steve Rogers, the more Stiles is determined to never let him meet Scott. They would have a contest to see who could do the most stupid, selfless thing ever. He chuckles lightly. Barnes starts tensing up again, and as usual when he tells about life pre-war, he clams up tight. Stiles decides to give him an out this time. “Thanks for telling me. I’m going to tell Scott and see if I can convince him those are the newer ways to treat asthma instead of older.”

Barnes shakes his head, but takes the dismissal, standing up and walking out without another word. It’s not the shortest session they’ve ever had, but Stiles isn’t surprised since the memories of Rogers from _before_ are often the most draining and taxing for Barnes to work through. He plans to stay in the conference room long enough to finish the research, which should only take another half hour, before heading up to the apartment to make dinner.

He’s surprised when the door to the conference room opens, and almost falls out of his chair when Rogers himself walks in the door. The man stops short at the sight of Stiles with his research spread out in front of him, typing away on the laptop. “I’m sorry. Bucky told me that you were free. If you’re working, then--”

Stiles waves him in. “No, it’s fine. I work while we talk, because it puts less pressure on him to talk and my focus isn’t completely on him, making him trapped.”

At the beginning, Rogers looks confused, but he’s happy with the explanation. “Is that… normal?”

Stiles shrugs, because he doesn’t think there’s a normal way to do any of this, but he gets what Rogers is really asking. “I’ve both received and given counseling in a multitude of ways. There is a right and wrong way ethically and morally, but as far as a template or how-to guide? In my eyes, if it is safe and the individuals involved are happy, healthy, and receiving what they need, then it’s fine. We’re working on different treatment approaches, session lengths, that sort of thing. It’s kind of a learning curve for us both.”

He gestures for Rogers to sit down in the seat Barnes vacated. Unlike with Barnes, Stiles saves his work, closes his laptop, and gives Rogers his full attention. “What can I do for you?”

Rogers sighs heavily and leans back in the chair. “It’s been brought to my attention that my expectations for Bucky have been too high, and that I should come talk to you.”

Stiles doesn’t bother keeping the grin off his face. It’s something that he and Barnes have talked about very shortly because Barnes remarked once that it was the first time he talked with someone without Rogers present. It was apparently driving Rogers slightly crazy because he’d been involved in every aspect of Barnes’ care until now. To be fair, it was necessary, since Rogers was the only one able to overpower Barnes without becoming a Hulk, being the God of Thunder, or putting on an Iron Man suit, and Barnes just trusted Rogers more than anyone else.

“Right,” Stiles says skeptically. “Did he actually tell you that, or did he punch the wall and then swear in another language while pointing in my direction.”

He’s taken aback, but laughs ruefully. “Well, I see you’re already learning some of his mannerisms.”

“More like I convinced him hitting the wall was better than hitting your face when he gets frustrated. I’m glad he actually listens to me.” 

They both chuckle and Rogers leans forward, a serious expression on his face. “I know that you can’t tell me anything. I get that, and I don’t want to do anything that would jeopardize his recovery. I just… wish I could do more.”

Stiles nods, and finds himself in a tricky place. He doesn’t want to compromise his standing with Barnes, because if the other man thinks he’s telling secrets to Rogers, they lose their trust. But at the same time, Rogers and Barnes are so intertwined together that he knew he would have to talk to Rogers at some point. He just didn’t expect it to be so early.

“First of all, I get that feeling. I really do. Stop me if I’m wrong, but he’s helped you so much, you want to repay back the kindness. _But_ you also want to support your best friend, and right now, your support also means keeping your distance.” Rogers agrees, and Stiles sighs, folding his arms on the table in front of him. “It sucks. I’ve been in that position, but I’ve also been in the other position. You are doing the right thing, but at the same time, don’t neglect yourself. Self-care is just as important, because if you don’t care for yourself, you can’t help him.”

Rogers looks lost, and that throws Stiles a bit, because he didn’t think that explanation was too difficult. Of course, most people haven’t gone through almost a decade of school in psychology. “Right,” he says with a small grin. “Self-care is basically what it says. You need to take care of yourself, and I’m not talking about keeping healthy in the physical body. You’ve… got that covered.”

Rogers snorts, raising an eyebrow at Stiles. He smirks in return, and it feels nice to have a light conversation without worrying that Captain America is going to toss him through a wall. It’s as much progress as he’s had with Barnes, just on a different scale.

“Look, my own experiences with therapy vary, because I went for different reasons. But when I was a senior in high school, I had to learn how to _live_ again. Self-care was a big part of that.” He scratches his head, trying to figure out how to explain self-care without a bunch of psychology terms. “It’s the key to a balanced, healthy life. At that time, I had to learn how to have fun and sleep.”

He was so scared of sleeping after the nogitsune possession, unsure who he would be when he woke up. Stiles also didn’t feel like he deserved to have fun after what he did while possessed. Watching a television show that he used to enjoy would send him into a panic attack, leaving him exhausted, but also too scared to sleep. 

“Things I used to love would annoy me. My _normal_ now annoyed me, and sometimes was bad for my mental health. I used to love playing video games, and some of them would be violent. The first time I picked up a controller after all this crazy shit went down in my life, I ended up hiding in the closet, crying, having a flashback. It took my dad almost two hours to talk me out of there, and I didn’t sleep for two days.” 

His days of being the king at Call of Duty were over, and the Resident Evil series was officially dead to him, no pun intended. Silly animated games were still fine, but sometimes even Plants vs. Zombies could set him off if he was having a bad day. The times where he and Scott could spend hours marathoning action movies or video games were over. 

“It made me angry. I prided myself on being good at those games. My interactions with Scott and some of my other friends revolved around those games or movies that tended to get violent. My _identity_ was tied to those games. And when I couldn’t play them anymore, I was crushed.”

When he was trying to voice these thoughts to his therapist, he had a hard time. What teenaged boy didn’t like violent, bloody video games? As he learned after pushing himself too hard far too many times, a teenaged boy who’s lived a violent, bloody life. He _knew_ that, but understanding and accepting it was much harder.

Many of the veterans with PTSD have similar issues. They love action video games, movies, and books, but not _war_ video games, movies and books. Sometimes it’s hard to find a good action movie that isn’t too triggering for some severe cases. 

“In the end, it took a while to find something that kept my interest, wasn’t time consuming, that I could take with me wherever I went. I needed something that gave me options creatively, but didn’t get me so absorbed that I couldn’t pull myself away.”

Stiles reaches down and pulls his personal coloring book and pencils out of his messenger bag. He has a blank one that he’s considered giving to Barnes, but they haven’t worked their way up to art therapy just yet. 

It’s not too full, because he honestly hasn’t needed to work on it in a while, but there are still colored pages filling half the book. He slides it across the table for Rogers to look at. 

“Coloring reduces stress and anxiety, while providing a creative outlet. It’s not art therapy, because there’s no therapist involved, but it allows people to create a calm environment, ground themselves, and focus on mindfulness.” He shrugs with a grin. “Plus, it’s very easy to take everywhere.”

Rogers looks fascinated as he flips through the pages. “I didn’t even know this was a thing. I mean, I knew it existed,” he corrects, glancing up. “But I thought only children used coloring books.”

“Adult coloring books are all the rage now,” Stiles chuckles. “Some people still think it’s stupid or childish, but I’ve seen the results in myself and others. It works.”

“No, I get that,” he says quietly, looking at one of the finished mandalas in the book. “I used to draw in my spare time. I haven’t done too much since I got out of the ice.”

Stiles cocks his head and pulls out the colored pencils from his bag. He doesn’t have a ton of colors in this set, but he doesn’t like taking a bunch in his messenger bag. “Try one. I think you’ll find coloring a lot less stressful than actual drawing. You just have to pick random colors and go to town.”

Rogers doesn’t look confident, but finds an intricate flower mandala and looks over his color options. As he begins to color, Stiles sits back and thinks about how he wants to proceed. He can’t say anything about what he and Barnes have talked about, but he’d like to get Rogers’ view on some events he’s heard about, hopefully to help ease the conversation between the two of them going forward. He also doesn’t want this to be a serious conversation, because he doesn’t want it to feel like an interrogation or a clinical therapy session.

With a grin, Stiles leans forward. “Tell me about asthmatic cigarettes,” he asks Rogers.

Pausing abruptly, Rogers looks up with a raised eyebrow. He blinks in surprise. “How… what does that have to do with anything?”

Stiles snorts. “Barnes and I talked about it before you came in. He asked about Liam, and we got on the subject of Scott. He has asthma. I was curious about how it was treated.”

Rogers makes a face and goes back to the coloring. “I hated them. Back then, everyone smoked, but the asthma cigarettes smelled very different. You didn’t even have to get close to someone - it used to stink up the small hallway outside our apartment. I eventually stopped because they didn’t help.” He nods, and he really is going to look all this up later, because it sounds absolutely fascinating. “So your brother has it, too?”

Shrugging, Stiles taps out a rhythm on the table. “Did,” he says softly. “When he was bitten and turned into a werewolf, his asthma disappeared.” 

He had a few episodes while a beta, when he was injured and the healing had to choose which was more important to heal. Since becoming the alpha, he hasn’t had any issues, especially as their pack grew in size and power. 

“Which is wonderful,” he continues dryly, “because as I explained to Barnes, Scott decided that year that getting on a sports team was the way to get girls. And his sport of choice was LaCrosse.”

Rogers stops coloring while he thinks. “I’m not familiar with it.”

Snorting, Stiles pulls out his phone. “Honestly, most people haven’t. Our school was just weird.” He pulls up a video and slides the phone across the table. “It’s kind of like a cross between football and basketball? Sort of?”

As he watches the video of one of Scott’s college matches Stiles had gone to and filmed, Rogers’ eyebrows slowly climb. “This is--” he stops and Stiles knows exactly what made him pause - another player got hit so hard he practically flipped, “more violent than I was expecting.”

Stiles chuckles, because the lacrosse community is small but dedicated. Players even more so. “Oh, trust me. We know. Scott and Liam have both broken bones. Luckily, or unluckily depending on who you ask, the worst I ever got was a concussion.”

“ _You_ played?” Rogers asks in surprise, wincing and handing the phone back. “Sorry. That came out a little more condescending than I planned.”

He flips through the phone with a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I played in my early highschool years. I picked it back up in my last year, but my course load was so heavy in college that there was no time. I still don’t know how Scott managed it, but he was captain his junior year at Davis.”

Stiles hands the phone back to show a picture of him and Scott as seniors in their lacrosse uniforms, the large, white C proudly displayed on Scott’s chest. It was after their last game, which they won, but it started to rain in the last quarter and they’re both covered in mud. “Flip to the next picture. That’s Liam.”

Rogers snickers when he sees the picture. Stiles and Scott have Liam sandwiched between them and he looks anything but pleased about the situation. “If you don’t mind me asking, are you and Scott related? I mean, you and Liam look alike, but…”

He holds out his hand for the phone, and flips through until he finds a good photo of his dad and Scott’s mom. He hands it back with a smile. “That’s my dad and Scott’s mom. Scott and I have been best friends since we were five. After my mom died, Melissa was there for both of us. My dad did the same for Scott. We’ve been brothers the entire time we’ve known each other, but our parents got married after we finished high school and made it legal. We’ve kind of been a family unit since his dad left.”

Rogers nods as he continues to look at the picture. “Left?”

Stiles can feel his shoulders tense, but that’s typical whenever he thinks of Rafael McCall. “God yes, and it should have happened way sooner. He was a fucking asshole.” Properly riled up now, Stiles squirms in his seat and crosses his arms. “Scott’s asthma was pretty bad, especially during the winters. Melissa is a nurse, which was good because she’s pretty much the reason he survived the bad ones. But his dad? He never smoked until Scott’s asthma got worse one year.”

Rogers reels back, a disgusted expression on his face. “Seriously?”

“Like I said. Asshole.” Stiles rubs his hands against the table. “Melissa finally kicked him to the curb when we were ten. He tried coming around during high school, making our lives horrible before he fucked back to D.C., thank god.”

He continues to color, shaking his head. “People confuse me. I mean, we had bigotry and hatred like that in the 30’s and 40’s, don’t get me wrong, but still.”

Stiles snorts. “Trust me. I’m a grandson of Polish and Ukrainian immigrants from that time period. I know all about the bigotry and hatred that humans are capable of for no apparent reason other than just because they can.”

“To immigrants,” Rogers says with a head nod. Stiles smiles. “I have another question, if I can ask.”

“You can ask. The worst thing that will happen is that I’ll say no.”

“You call him Barnes,” he says, pausing in his coloring again. “And I’ve heard you call Tony ‘Stark’, but you also address Thor, Darcy, and Dr. Foster by their first names. I’m not even going to get into what you call me.” Stiles snickers, but gestures for him to continue. He was wondering when he’d get this question. “Why not call him Bucky?”

So far, Rogers is the only one who has caught him using last names for most people. Granted, he doesn’t talk to very many people beyond Barnes and Thor, so he doesn’t see how anyone else would have noticed.

“He hasn’t asked me to,” Stiles replies. “Names are powerful, and I don’t use anyone’s given name unless they give me permission. There’s an added element in that part of what I’m helping him work through is his identity now, after being so many things, including a nameless piece of property. Names are hard after trauma like that. Barnes is the safest thing I can use.”

The other man thinks about the answer, before nodding. “And me?”

“I call you Rogers,” he says with a shrug. “Normally, I address servicemen and women by their rank out of respect, but since Captain America is your job and not your title, I only use that for nicknames when you piss me off. And since you’re not actively in service right now, then Captain Rogers is out as well.”

Rogers blinks in surprise, sitting back in his chair. “That’s… really perceptive of you.”

Raising his eyebrow, Stiles gestures for him to continue. “Really? How?”

“Most people don’t consider Captain America a job. They see it as a person.” Rogers shrugs, fiddling with the blue colored pencil in his hand. “It’s more an old title.”

He and Rogers stare at each other for a few seconds before Stiles snorts. “Well, that’s stupid. You’re more than your job. You don’t see people only calling Stark Iron Man, right? Or Romanoff Black Widow.”

“Yes, they do.”

“Well, they’re stupid,” Stiles snaps.

Rogers snickers. “Well, you have my permission to call me Steve.”

He has a surreal moment, because as much as he just won brownie points for correctly pointing out that Captain America is a job, not a person, he gets giddy because _Captain America just asked him to call him Steve_. Stiles covers up the silly expression about to break out on his face by nodding at him. 

“Call me Stiles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, apologies for the late chapter. This is a strange time and everyone is struggling. Our nurse, who was a critical care nurse in the Navy for over 20 years was recently diagnosed with anxiety. She couldn't understand why she was suddenly anxious when she's the most level-headed person ever, and another manager pointed out that we're living in a perpetual state of no progress. When she was in a shift, she could go home and decompress. We can't do that now. 
> 
> So to everyone who is struggling right now, it's not just you. Take care of yourselves. Stay home. Wear a mask when you go out. I hope this chapter brings a little light to your life. You're amazing!


	15. Hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is supportive. He's a supportive person, Tony, damn it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's a chapter a day early to make up for the late chapter last week and the fact that I need to put some good out in the world. Since this fic has been helping a bunch of people, I want to keep helping people. And to everyone who is apparently also in the DFW area, *waves*. I am currently in quarantine with some clients because one of my staff tested positive. It was my birthday yesterday and nothing says happy birthday than being told to quarantine and get tested for Covid-19. But I have my iPad, Switch, yarn (crafting ftw), my laptop, and a phone with unlimited data and hotspot capabilities. 
> 
> Title is from the song Hurricane by MS MR. Not only is the concept of a hurricane so applicable but the song may or may not be a foreshadowing for chapters to come. Maybe. Give it a listen [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jO-K1-yB8zA)

The camaraderie that he built with Rogers - _Steve_ \- continues to flourish. He and Barnes start to trade off time. Steve will come in after Barnes, and on one memorable occasion, beat him there, prompting Barnes to kick him out of the chair, literally, and tell him to go break some punching bags. They don’t have the traditional therapy sessions he’s working up to with Barnes. Steve asks as many questions as Stiles does, and they spend one whole afternoon coloring together. 

During one of their impromptu sessions after he’s returned from classes, Steve looks up from the mandala he’s coloring - with his own pencils, because Stiles measly dozen colors don’t have enough depth, whatever that means - with an expression Stiles has seen before. Steve wants to ask him a question, but doesn’t know how Stiles is going to feel about it and is nervous about asking.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles puts down his coloring pencils and crosses his arms. “Well?”

With a sigh, Steve stops coloring as well. “Tomorrow, Tony has to do some maintenance on Bucky’s arm. Sometimes it goes well and sometimes it doesn’t. He can have flashbacks. I’m with him, and when Thor is on planet, so is he, but since he’s done so well with you, I wanted to know if you’d be there?”

Stiles pushes back the excitement, because as much as they’ve talked about some of the trauma he’s endured, he and Barnes haven’t talked about the arm at all. He hasn’t seen it beyond the left wrist, either. 

“I don’t know if he would want me there,” Stiles begins slowly. “Especially since _you’re_ asking and not him.” Rogers at least looks sheepish about that. Progress. “But I’ll ask him if he would feel comfortable with it, and if he says yes, then I’ll be there.”

He relays the question via Friday before dinner. When there’s a knock on the door five minutes later, Stiles’ eyebrows go up, but he opens the door just as Derek enters the room. 

Barnes is on the other side, arms crossed and a glare on his face. “Who told?”

Stiles leans against the door frame with a smirk. “Who do you think?”

When Barnes rolls his eyes, Stiles gestures him inside. “Look, there’s a reason I asked if you were comfortable with it in the first place.” He closes the door and Derek goes back to cooking. “Want to stay for dinner? Derek’s making something that smells amazing but I can’t pronounce. It’ll be good. You can tell me embarrassing stories of baby Steve in revenge since he technically violated your privacy.”

Barnes snorts but falls into what is becoming his armchair due to him stalking around Stiles and Derek’s apartment on the days when the conference room feels too institutional. “It’s just regular maintenance.”

“So Steve said. But I have no idea what that entails.” Stiles shrugs and flops back onto the couch. “I don’t want to be another person staring at you and making you uncomfortable.”

Stiles feels like he’s already achieving that, with the way Barnes’ shoulders hunch and he slides down in the armchair more. “And judging by your stellar turtle impersonation, that’s an issue.”

Derek walks behind him, smacking him on the back of the head before dropping two water bottles next to him on the couch. He rubs at the spot but hands over one of the bottles to Barnes. 

“Stark keeps fiddling with the power source and the plate calibration. Some of the finger joints lock up and they need to be oiled.” His jaw tenses as he looks down at the left hand, making a fist and loosening it again, the whirring of the joints making a clicking noise rather than a low hum like the elbow or shoulder. “It didn’t used to be an issue. Before… I was in cryo too much. I didn’t have the wear and tear of constant use. It needs more work than I’d like. But it’s necessary.”

Stiles nods. “Again, it is up to you. You don’t even have to decide now. You can decide five minutes before you get there you want me there. You can even send me away before you walk through the doors. I can show up to distract you or be a pretty face you get to look at instead of Stark’s psycho goatee.”

Barnes has a small smirk on his face, and Stiles inwardly cheers. “We’ll have dinner, you can think it over, and let me know tomorrow. It’s a free day, so I’m just going to hang around and be lazy. Now. Baby Steve stories.”

As they wait for Derek to finish dinner, Barnes does tell him stories of Steve from the 30’s. Stiles soaks up the stories and laughs himself hoarse, because he thought _he_ got into crazy stunts when he was younger. At one point, Stiles pulls out his phone and sends a text to Steve with nothing but a hot dog, a roller coaster, and a throwing up emoji. He gets a middle finger and multiple poops back, which makes him laugh even harder. 

Dinner is amazing, as always, and Barnes even sticks around after to continue the conversation. Stiles talks about how he and Derek tried to have a long distance relationship the first semester of his undergraduate year, and how that epically failed. Stiles was still too raw after the dangers of high school and while Scott was only a few hours from his emissary, Derek was a half day’s drive. It drove them both insane to be so far apart. He also apparently talked Derek up so much that none of his friends believed he was real. 

Derek paid for an apartment in Palo Alto just before Christmas so he and Stiles could be closer together. The first time he brought Derek to meet his friends, one of them fell off a stool and another walked into the bar. 

Barnes chuckles through the stories, which Stiles purposefully keeps lighthearted. Whenever the topic veers into a low topic, he or Derek steer it back, usually by showing a funny picture or telling another crazy story. 

Stiles doesn’t realize how late it is until there’s a knock on the door. Derek answers it, revealing Steve with raised eyebrow. “Why did you tell him about that?” he asks before he even fully gets into the room. 

Stiles laughs, even when Steve throws the pillow from the other armchair at his face. He lets the pillow hit him, but laughs harder. 

“Because you told him about tomorrow.”

Steve deflates, all his righteous anger tumbling out of him as he slumps into the chair. “I’m sorry. I know I should have asked you first, but I knew you would say no or maybe hadn’t thought about it. I just wanted to help since it seems like it’s such a bad ordeal.”

Stiles doesn’t know how Barnes stays steady in the face of that pout and those puppy dog eyes. Even with years of tolerance built up, Stiles still caves at Scott’s expression sometimes. The only one immune is Melissa. 

For a few tense moments, Stiles is worried he might have to referee a fight or worse, walk them through using their words and go back on his word of not doing couples sessions. He and Derek share a concerned look. 

Barnes sighs and rolls his eyes. “Don’t give me that, you punk.” Steve grins. 

“God, that’s like watching you and Scott,” Derek says, flicking Stiles on the shoulder. 

Stiles glares at him. “We are _not_ that bad.”

Snorting, Derek gives him a look of disbelief. “The only difference in that exchange is that you would have called Scott a dick and then he would have tackled you to give you a hug.”

Okay, that was true. One of Scott’s favorite things to do was yell _let me love you_ and knock Stiles flat. When Steve looks at Barnes with an eyebrow raised, Barnes growls at him, “Don’t you even think about it.”

They both leave soon after, and the next morning, Stiles wakes to a message from Friday relaying Barnes’ wish to have him there for the arm maintenance. Derek opts to stay in the apartment, because the invitation was for Stiles only and there’s no reason to have one more person in the room. Steve and Stiles are more than enough to handle Barnes if something does happen. 

He’s directed to a lab, which he’s never seen before. Stiles walks in with wide eyes and quickly tucks his hands into his pockets. There is no way he’s touching a single thing in here because everything is shiny and can probably kill him a million different ways. 

Barnes, Stark, and Steve are on the other side of the room, and he makes a beeline towards them, ignoring all the shiny things just waiting to be poked. “Be honest,” he asks, interrupting the conversation and not giving a damn. “How many things in this room are alive and able to maim me in very unpleasant ways?”

Steve looks amused, but Stark actually stops to think. That does not instill him with confidence. “More than you’d think, but less than terrifying levels.”

Stiles gapes. “That is not an acceptable answer!” He flails, realizes he does not want his gangly limbs that far from his torso, and sticks his hands under his armpits. 

“You know, you don’t have to be here,” Stark says, fiddling with various instruments on a nearby table.

“I’m here to be supportive. I’m a supportive person,” he snaps. “So there.” Something pokes his ass and he shrieks, spinning around and almost falling onto Steve. A fucking _robotic arm on wheels_ waves up and down at him. 

“Hey!” Stark snaps, pointing to the other side of the room. “What did I say about molesting new people? Go back to your corner.”

Stiles releases his death grip on Steve’s arm - and _wow_ , that’s embarrassing - and clears his throat. “Let’s just… pretend that didn’t happen, okay? If Derek asks, I didn’t make that noise and didn’t act like a damsel in distress.” Steve raises an eyebrow and he sighs. He _knew_ he shouldn’t have sent those emoji texts last night. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen, is it?”

Rolling his eyes, Barnes takes off his shirt and Stiles makes an embarrassing noise again, because _damn_. He claps a hand over his mouth as he turns red. Well, if he was here to be a distraction, he’s pretty sure he’s nailing it, because everyone is staring at him instead of Barnes. 

“Look, just ignore me. I clearly need more coffee or something.”

Stark takes the suggestion to heart, reaching over and touching some of the arm plates as Barnes stiffens in the chair. It’s the first time Stiles has seen the complete arm, and it’s just as impressive as he imagined it to be. Stiles stuffs his hands in his pockets so he doesn’t give in to the temptation to touch. 

“You want to work on the bicep or the fingers first?” Stark asks, and Barnes shrugs, still staring straight ahead. His face is blank, and Stiles takes a step closer to his field of vision, to give him something to look at if he needs to. 

The tension rises in the room, and Stiles does what he does best to break it - open his mouth and let the words flow. 

“Do you have compartments in the fingers?” he asks Barnes. The man finally looks at him, but doesn’t respond. “I’m just thinking, you could flip off the bad guys and then a laser or something could shoot out. It’s a two-fer. You get to flip someone off and kill them. Win-win.”

“Wouldn’t the laser just shoot into the sky?” Steve asks. “To shoot the laser, you’d have to flip off the ground. It wouldn’t be as effective.”

Stiles blinks at him, because he hadn’t expected anyone to answer. “Wow, has this come up before or something? You had that scenario ready to go.”

His expression goes from thoughtful to exasperated. “I’m a tactician. It’s my job to think things like that through.”

“Okay, then you can do it when you’re standing under something that’s floating.”

“But you’re still not flipping off the right direction,” Steve argues. “If you flip off the ship floating about you, you’re just going to fire a laser at someone behind you.”

Stiles flails again. Usually when he comes up with this dumb scenarios, the most reaction he gets is a scoff. He’s never had someone actually argue the dumn scenarios with him. “Oh my God, are you serious right now?”

“Are you _both_ serious right now?” Barnes asks. Stiles didn’t mean to get distracted by an argument about lasers and middle fingers, but sure enough, he and Steve are squared off against each other, leaving Stark to work on Barnes’ arm while the other supersoldier stares at them. “I don’t have a laser in my middle finger. I won’t ever have a laser in a middle finger.”

“I already tried,” Stark admits, leaning over to the bench to get another instrument. “The plates, joints, and neural receptors don’t leave any room. Just working on them is a bitch. Case in point.”

He holds up a device with a long tube hooked up to a case on the bench. Stiles swallows tightly, because this just went from a joke to a nightmare. 

“Why is there a big ass needle in here right now?” Stiles asks, his pulse rocketing up as he takes a step back. His breathing increases and his hands shake. “It’s a metal arm! Why do you need a needle?!”

He has to turn away and lean over to try to catch his breath. Resting his hands on his thighs, Stiles closes his eyes and does deep breathing exercises. 

“Like I said, case in point. It’s a bitch to oil, which is why I have the needle,” Stark explains, and the man sounds like he’s speaking through a muffler. 

He can hear the needle scrape against the metal, the liquid dripping into the joints, and Stiles feels sick to his stomach. He groans, flopping to the floor and pulling his knees up to his chest. “Oh God, oh God,” he mutters. 

Someone kneels in front of him and puts a hand on his shoulder. He lurches away, because he is not about to be touched by anyone at the moment, and the hand quickly leaves. “Stiles, are you okay?” Steve asks. 

He shakes his head, still trying to take deep breaths so he doesn’t hyperventilate and pass out. With needles, it’s a distinct possibility. “I don’t… I don’t do needles. It’s a thing.”

“Friday, get Derek,” Steve orders. “Direct him here.”

Stiles doesn’t say that Derek is probably already on his way. With Stiles’ panicking like he is, there’s no way Derek would stay around the room and wait for the emissary to come back to him. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Derek rushes into the room and crouches by Stiles, careful not to touch him.

“What happened?” he growls. 

“Big ass needle,” he gasps. “Needle. Big as my arm. _Why_?” he moans, still keeping his eyes closed.

Derek huffs, but remains close. “The needle is gone. I promise.” Stiles shakes his head, because if he opens his eyes, the masochistic part of him is going to look right over to that table again to see if it’s still there and the whole cycle will start again.

A few moments pass and equipment clatters, and Stiles can hear the mechanical arm that pinched him earlier wheel over. “Okay, it’s not even in the room. It’s gone.”

With a groan, Stiles flops back onto the floor, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. Not only is Derek leaning next to him, but so are Barnes, Stark, and Steve. “Fuck my life.”

Stark actually looks bashful, rubbing the back of his head. “Yeah, didn’t think to give you a head’s up about the needle thing. It’s usually not an issue. Never met anyone with trypanophobia.”

Stiles nods at him, still trying to get his breathing back under control. He reaches out for Derek, who rubs his fingers against Stiles’ pulse in his wrist. “Not your fault. Didn’t know. But hey, at least I didn’t pass out this time.”

“What the hell is trypanophobia?” Barnes asks, looking between Stiles and Stark. His shirt is still off, metal arm propped up on his bent knee. Stiles is equally happy and irritated that Barnes is so distracted by Stiles’ freak out that he didn’t bother with a shirt, especially with Derek now in the room.

“Fear of needles,” Derek tells him. “He’s not kidding about passing out either. Are you sure you didn’t lose consciousness?” he asks, looking closely at his face.

Stiles nods, finally getting the shakes under his control. The adrenaline is starting to fade, thankfully. “Yeah, I turned away pretty quickly.”

Derek reaches a hand behind him and helps him sit up. He does so with a groan, rubbing at his chest. “Sorry,” he says.

He gets curious looks from everyone but Derek, who looks downright irritated at him. “For what?” Steve asks. 

“I was here to be supportive and distracting, not to pass out.”

Barnes snorts. “That was the quickest and most painless maintenance so far.”

“You were plenty distracting,” Stark tells him cheerfully. “He was so worried about you, Barnes didn’t even have time to flip out. And the arm was loose enough that I was able to make adjustments easier and quicker.”

Stiles shakes his head as Derek helps him stand. He keeps a grip on the alpha’s arm until he feels steadier. “I don’t know whether to be happy about the results or irritated that you kept working while I was having a crisis on the floor.”

Stark shrugs. “The result is usually both.”

“Both it is,” Stiles says. He leans against Derek and closes his eyes. “I deserve a piggy back ride back to the room.”

The alpha pulls away, trying to judge if Stiles is serious or not. He would be insulted, but he’s absolutely felt fine before and demanded something similar. He’s also demanded similar when he really needed it, too.

His eyes flick down to Stiles’ chest and sighs. He doesn’t like what he hears with Stiles’ heartbeat, because he nods with his head. Instead of leaning over so Stiles can jump on his back, Derek sweeps him up in a princess carry, while Stiles squawks at the quick movement.

“This is not a piggy back ride, Derek!”

He groans and leans his head on Derek’s shoulder when he hears all three men snickering at him as they leave the lab. “I hate you all. See if I ever be supportive ever again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trypanophobia is a real fear of needles, specifically a fear of needles and injections in a medical setting. Now given Stiles' history in my fic, I wonder why he has that. *whistles and hides*
> 
> Be safe my lovelies and the same to all of you across the globe. It's crazy that this is reaching people across oceans. It boggles my mind. I hope this makes you smile.


	16. Dark Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two steps forward, one step back. Recovery isn't linear and sometimes we have to practice what we preach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovelies. I hope everyone is safe and healthy. This has been a hard week for many reasons, so this chapter comes with a warning. This is one of the darkest chapters of this fic so far. It features descriptive nightmares, panic attacks, negative self-talk, and a full re-telling of Stiles' time as the Nogitsune. So just like when I warned with chapter six, this chapter is rough and Stiles is in a bad mental place. If you think reading this chapter will do the same to you, then _do not read_. This chapter will be here later. Do not hurt yourselves. I honestly debated putting this chapter off a week just because the timing seemed wrong, but I know I escape to fictional worlds when the real one gets tough, so I don't want to deprive anyone who can use this to help themselves. 
> 
> Chapter title comes from the song "Dark Side" by Kelly Clarkson. Give it a listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5ArpRWcGe0).

Stiles walks into the common room just as Barton starts working on his bow. He’s never seen it up close, but as one of the most approachable Avengers, Stiles feels comfortable going over to the man to ask questions. Allison was going to die when she found out.

“That is so awesome. I know it’s custom, because it’s you, but what kind of arrows do you use?”

“All sorts,” he says. “Whatever Tony likes to cook up, I’ll try in the range. I’m limited by what my quiver can hold, but we’re working on that, too.”

Stiles nods as Clint holds up the quiver, noting all the mechanical parts to it. “What’s your favorite?”

“Silver tipped,” he says with a grin, holding one up. It doesn’t look at all like his normal arrows, which have a black shaft, color-coded tips, and varying colors of fletching to match the tips. Instead of a four-tipped arrow head, this arrow is three-tipped, glistening brightly. “I call it the needle.”

His hands start to shake as he takes the offered arrow. The flesh tingles where it comes in contact with it, almost burning his hand. When he looks up, they’re no longer in the common room, but on the steps of the high school.

Clint is in his Avengers costume, drawing the arrow and letting it fly. Stiles screams when the arrow thuds into Allison’s torso, her eyes staring straight into him with betrayal. When he looks down, _he’s_ the one holding the bow.

Stiles spins around to escape the scene, only to find himself standing beside his mother’s hospital bed, thumb pressed down on the plunger of the syringe pressed into her IV line. He scrambles back, staring in horror as his mother smiles and the heart monitor flatlines.

Someone grabs his shoulder -

\- and he sits straight with a scream, lurching away from Derek and falling to the floor next to the bed. He scrambles until his back hits the wall with a thud, crying and gasping. Stiles is shaking too hard to do anything but sit there.

Derek crouches in front of him, a pained expression on his face. He doesn’t reach for Stiles, but keeps up a steady stream of words in a low, soothing tone. He repeats the date, where they are, and tells Stiles that he is awake and himself.

Stiles doesn’t know how much time passes or what time it even is. He collapses back onto the floor, still partially tangled in the bedding. When he stretches out his hand, he counts his fingers before Derek laces his between Stiles’. Their phones are buzzing on the nightstands, but Derek lies on the floor with him instead of answering. The pack has experienced the backlash of his nightmares enough to know that he’ll contact them when he’s able, and Derek will update them the moment Stiles is confident enough to let him go.

“It was bad,” he croaks, not bothering to wipe away the tears on his cheeks. He knows from experience that he’s not done just yet. “Allison _and_ my mom.”

Derek rubs his thumb against the side of Stiles’ hand. “What can I do?”

Stiles shakes his head, because right now, he wants to stay here and exist. There’s nothing Derek can do but lie with him. He’s thankful it’s the weekend, because these nightmares usually knock him out of whack for a few days.

He doesn’t doze off, but he does progressive muscle relaxation exercises, working through his body to lessen the tension and muscle cramps. Sometimes he wakes up fighting, and those are the worst, because Derek usually has to restrain him so he doesn’t hurt himself.

When Stiles needs to use the bathroom more than he needs to lie on the floor, he asks Derek to help him up and to the ensuite. Derek grabs Stiles’ phone and responds to texts while he waits for Stiles, and takes them to the living room when he’s done.

Stiles changes into his comfort clothes, very similar to what he wore after he first talked about his mother to the Avengers. He curls up in a blanket on the couch while Derek makes them tea, keeping the lights dim and the windows blackened.

“What time is it?” he whispers when Derek comes back to the couch, a bottle of water in his hand.

“Just before four.” Stiles nods and leans into Derek. “I let everyone know about the nightmare. Did you have anything planned today that I need to address?”

Stiles shakes his head, before pausing. “Maybe text Thor and ask him to cover for me today?” He doesn’t expect anything to happen, doesn’t think that anyone is going to go look into their background, but his paranoia is always ramped up after nightmares. Later, he’s going to apologize for using Thor so much, but right now he’s just thankful the god is willing to help him.

Derek does as asked, remaining glued to Stiles’ side through the morning. He feeds Stiles oatmeal and honey, along with more tea. Stiles almost throws up, overactive imagination working against him as he replays his nightmare in his head over and over.

He talks to various members of the pack and his dad throughout the day via text, unable to speak. He even resorts to nods and headshakes with Derek. If he opens his mouth to talk, he’s going to cry again, and he can already feel the headache starting to form. Stiles decides not to sleep that night, and if he keeps crying, the lack of sleep and crying will turn the pressure in his head into a migraine. That’s exactly what he doesn’t need.

He and Derek stay on the couch all day and into the night. Derek frowns when he asks if Stiles plans on sleeping and gets a head shake for an answer, but it’s par for his routine post-nightmare. Derek slumbers next to him that night, but Stiles stays awake and does more exercises, focusing on his hands that keep clenching into fists. He can feel the sword and the syringe in his hands, phantom weights pressed against his palm.

The next day, Stiles is exhausted and still emotionally wrung out, but he can also feel the walls closing in on him. After the start of the nightmare, there’s no way he’s going to the common area. He’s still dressed in his comfortable clothes, which definitely need to be washed, along with himself. Showering still seems like too much work, and he shuffles to the conference room with Derek in tow.

He doesn’t bring his research, because the last thing he needs after dealing with PTSD nightmares is reading about PTSD. He also doesn’t feel like coloring or playing on his phone. Derek drapes a blanket over his shoulders when he collapses on the couch on the far side of the room instead of his normal chair.

“Wake me up if I fall asleep,” he mumbles to Derek.

“You _need_ to sleep,” Derek counters.

“I _need_ you to wake me up,” he says, his tone harsher than he meant. With a wince, he apologizes, and Derek accepts it by running a hand over his head.

“You’re going to sleep tonight. Not an option,” he replies, voice stern. “We’ll see how you feel tomorrow, and if I need to, I’ll call your study group for you.”

Derek’s met with his study group and has their contact information in case of an emergency. Stiles doesn’t want to cancel, since he’s already had to do so once this semester due to him feeling shitty, but they’re also the group of people who would understand the most. Thankfully, his classes aren’t until Tuesday.

“Fine,” Stiles mutters, closing his eyes again. The room is quiet for a moment, before Derek moves closer and sits on the couch, pressing a hand against Stiles’ calf on top of the blanket.

“Can I get you anything?” Derek asks, his voice going soft again.

Stiles grimaces, because the alpha isn’t going to like the answer. When he opens his eyes, Derek is watching him carefully and expectantly. “Can I get some alone time? I just… need to decompress a little.”

The desire to be alone is another part of his post-nightmare routine, but it’s the one that makes Stiles feel the most guilty. Even though it goes against Derek’s instincts, he nods with a small smile and hands over Stiles’ cell phone. “This is on silent and do not disturb, but if you need me, text me. I’m going back to the room.”

Stiles grabs his hand as he goes to leave and presses a kiss to the palm. “Thank you. You’re an awesome boyfriend and an amazing alpha.”

Derek leans down and kisses his forehead. “And you’re an awesome boyfriend, an amazing emissary, and one of the strongest people I know. Love you.”

He blushes, but snuggles down into the blanket with a small grin. “Love you too.”

After Derek leaves, Stiles curls up into a ball in the blanket, purposefully choosing the most uncomfortable position he can to prevent him from dozing off. Time passes and Stiles doesn’t bother looking at the clock, doing mental grounding exercises as he feels his body tensing up, eventually giving up and using an app on his phone to walk him through when his self-talk becomes too negative.

Just as he finishes a half hour meditation, the door opens with no warning. Stiles sits up in alarm, first assuming Thor is on the other side of the door. When the figure moves fully into the room, Barnes is the one frowning at Stiles.

“You look like shit.”

Stiles snorts at the blunt phrase. “Then I match how I feel.”

“You weren’t in here yesterday,” Barnes says, not yet sitting down.

Stiles groans, because he forgot to tell Derek to tell Barnes or Steve that he wouldn’t be available. “Fuck, I’m sorry, dude.” He rubs a hand over his face with a sigh. “I’m having a few bad days. I couldn’t even talk yesterday. I completely forgot. I just came in here because I was feeling pressed in in the apartment.”

Barnes nods, turning back to the door. “Right. Sorry. I’ll--”

Stiles waves him off, nodding to the chair Barnes usually sits in, even if he’d have to turn away from the table to face Stiles. The feeling of wanting to _not_ be alone hits him just as quickly as the need to be alone came upon him earlier. “Stay. I can’t guarantee I’ll be of much help, but every little bit helps.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Barnes slowly lowers himself into the chair. “Right.” They sit in silence for a few minutes. Well, Barnes sits. Stiles continues his swaddled newborn impersonation on the couch. “You know, you always tell me to use my words when I feel bad.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “No.”

Barnes jerks back a bit before leaning forward, a determined expression on his face. “Yes, you do. Let’s do some of those stupid exercises you always force me into.”

“ _No_ ,” Stiles scoffs. “You are not my therapist. This is not a thing.”

While he’s always thought that Steve was the Scott of the duo, Barnes has a remarkably similar resolve face.

“So is this a do as I say, not as I do thing?” Barnes snarks back.

Stiles wants to flip him off, but he can’t get the energy to raise his arm out of the blanket. “No, it’s not. But I’m also not about to tell you my issues because they could trigger yours.”

Barnes crosses his arms. “How the hell could that happen?”

Judging by the man’s tone, he’s joking, trying to lighten the conversation. It’s something that Stiles does, that usually works, but he’s just not in the mindset to appreciate it or take the opening.

He’s been here for almost four months, and has talked to Barnes almost every day in some capacity for two and half of those months. Recently, Barnes has been very open with him, talking about being the Winter Soldier, slowly working through the physical and mental trauma he went through. Stiles noted a lot of offhand comments Barnes made through the sessions that Stiles recognized from his own inner monologue post-nogitsune. One of those comments being that he knew Stiles couldn’t understand what he was talking about, in relation to the mind-control and fighting against the actions of his own body.

So Stiles decides to answer Barnes honestly, even though the question was a joke.

“Because you once told me that you dreamed of the people that you killed while under the control of Hydra. And two nights ago, I had a dream of one of the people I killed while under someone else’s control, and I don’t want to talk about that and trigger you.”

Barnes’ body goes loose in shock, eyes widening as he looks over Stiles, determining if he’s telling the truth. “You…” He shakes his head, clearing it, and leans back in his chair. “Are you joking?”

Stiles doesn’t hold the harsh tone against him. It’s not an easy thing to hear, and Stiles remembers hearing the details about what Barnes went through, how he was in disbelief that someone he admired had gone through something so similar to his own unbelievable circumstances.

“No,” he replies softly. “Derek can tell you about it, and so can Thor.”

He blows out a breath, looking shocked. Stiles doesn’t say anything else, letting Barnes dictate the conversation. “How?”

Stiles squirms on the couch. “I meant it, about our circumstances being similar. I’ll tell you, because I trust you with this, but I don’t want to set you back in the process.”

“I don’t…” Barnes looks just as uncomfortable as Stiles at the moment, but also determined. “I want to hear the story, but I’d feel more comfortable with Steve in the room. Or Derek, if you don’t want Steve to hear.” Shaking his head, he runs his hand through his hair, still not meeting Stiles’ gaze. “I know that you’re able to hold me back if something happens, but I don’t want you to _have_ to, after that.”

He’s touched by the consideration and he’s grateful because if he’s going to talk about the nogitsune, he absolutely wants Derek there with him. “Friday,” he asks, letting up on his own magic keeping the conference room in a dead space of surveillance for just this second. “Can you let Steve and Derek know that we’d like them in the conference room, please? It’ll take a while, so if one of them is busy, please let us know.”

“ _Of course_.”

He and Barnes sit in silence until Derek enters first, since he was just down the hall. The alpha frowns at Barnes’ presence, but moves to sit on the couch opposite of Stiles. He tugs on Derek’s arm, not getting a grip because his hand is still under the blanket, but Derek understands what Stiles wants. He leans against Stiles’ legs, laying his head on Stiles’ chest. The weight on top of him grounds him, and Stiles closes his eyes with a sigh, not opening them until Steve comes into the conference room, panting slightly.

“Did you run here?” Barnes asks.

“Maybe,” Steve replies defensively. He takes a seat next to Barnes and does a double take when he sees Stiles and Derek’s position on the couch. “What’s going on?”

Stiles takes a deep breath to steady himself, and also to press his chest up against Derek’s weight. The alpha rubs his hip with his hand through the blanket in response. “I’m having a few bad days due to a nightmare I had two nights ago. I forgot to tell anyone that I wasn’t going to be here. Barnes and I were talking, and when he asked me to talk about the nightmare, I told him no, because our circumstances are actually very similar, and I don’t want to trigger him. I offered to give him an explanation, but he wanted you here in case something happened. And I need Derek here for _me_.”

Steve still looks lost, but Barnes curls back into the chair. He reaches a hand out, pausing until Barnes nods. Steve rests his hand on Barnes’ shoulder - the metal one - and squeezes. When the moment passes, his hand drops and he turns back to Stiles. “Thank you for sharing this with us.”

Stiles nods. “And just… let me get through this without questions, okay? Derek can probably answer most of them, but if I stop, I won’t be able to start again.” They both nod, and he takes a deep breath, letting his head thunk back onto the pillow leaning against the couch arm. There’s no way he can talk about this looking at the two supersoldiers, so he opts to stare at the ceiling instead.

“When I was seventeen, an evil emissary started making human sacrifices to increase her powers. One of the first people she killed was a friend of mine. In the end, she killed nine people, and she kidnapped my dad and Scott’s mom. In order to find her, the old Hale emissary told us about a ritual. In order to complete the ritual, we had to commit suicide as an offering to an old being of power to receive the vision. What we didn’t know was that when we came back, our minds were left open to other evil beings to take over.”

Derek’s grip tightens on his hip at the reminder of Deaton. The vet hadn’t stuck around when Stiles came into his powers and had no issue flexing them. Scott may have looked up to the man, but Stiles held a grudge, and the more training he went through, the more he realized that the druid was a self-serving, prideful asshole.

“Our ritual released such a being, and it possessed me. We knew it as a nogitsune, but it’s a spirit known in many different cultures. Thor called it a Void, because that’s what it all boils down to. It consumes the mind and body of the host, feeding on chaos and pain until there’s nothing left. I was…”

Stiles trails off, because there’s no way he can summarize everything about his life up until that point. He’s done as best he can, and the fact that the supersoldiers already know about some of the supernatural helps a bit.

“It chose me, and no one knew until it was almost too late. No one could tell right away that something was in me. It was able to see in my head and study me, mimic everything as a front while twisting schemes behind my family’s backs. I did… so many horrible things to strangers, but I also did them to the people that I love.”

He inhales a shaky breath, keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling, even through hearing Barnes and Steve mutter under their breath and fidgeting in their seats. “It used my hands to make a trap for my high school track team. One of the trap arrows hit my coach in the chest and punctured his lung. I made a bomb that was delivered to my father. He wasn’t there when it detonated, but Derek was. They picked hundreds of shards of glass and debris out of his back, cutting him open when his skin healed. I watched good men and women around me die and could do nothing but hold their hands until the light went out of their eyes.”

Tears gather in his eyes as he thinks back to his worst offenses. He closes his eyes, hoping to keep them from falling. He _promised_ himself he wasn’t going to cry.

“I thought I was going crazy when this thing was in my head. I would lose time, disappear for days. They did tests in the hospital, and it manipulated everything so that the doctors believed I had the same disease my mother did, just so my dad would feel that terror all over again.”

Stiles remembers the expression on his father’s face, the weary resignation of _I can’t do this again_. He never told anyone, but if the nogitsune hadn’t been in his head, if he really had developed that horrible disease, he was taking a scalpel to his throat and calling it a day before his dad went through that hell a second time.

Pushing the dark thoughts away, Stiles continues with his story. “My brother Scott got a sword to his stomach trying to protect me, before he knew I was the evil thing he was trying to fight. When he finally realized…” Stiles swallows tightly, trying to wet his dry throat. “I twisted the sword and smiled when he screamed.”

Derek leans up on his elbow, putting his palm on Stiles’ torso to press down and keep the pressure there. “Do you need a break?” he asks softly. Stiles shakes his head and brushes his hand over his cheeks.

At the time, they didn’t know that Deaton had security cameras all over the clinic. They only found out when he came across the footage of that night on Deaton’s computer, because he was doing ‘research’. _That_ discovery put Stiles on a massive recovery setback for a month.

“The nightmare I had two nights ago was of something I did during that time. I told you Scott’s married to a woman named Kira now, but back then, he had just broken up with his first love, a woman named Allison. She figured out a way to kill the nogitsune’s followers, and for that, I killed her. Before I killed _her_ , I didn’t have a fear of needles. But since…” Stiles grimaces. “That’s what I dreamed about. That and my mom.”

He trails off, sobs crawling up his throat. “I killed the woman Scott loved, and held his hand at her funeral while he cried two weeks later, knowing that it was all my fault, just like I did with dad.”

Derek makes an irritated noise beside him, because he still blames himself for Allison’s death. That thing wore his face, used his body copy to control the Oni, and put a blade through her. He blames himself for everything that thing did with his form, because without him, the Void wouldn’t have had the power to create the chaos in the first place.

“I possessed Derek to make him set a man on fire. I kidnapped one of my best friends, and emotionally and psychologically tortured her. Even though that thing was growing stronger with all the pain and chaos around us, I was dying. The pain… was unimaginable. Every breath was excruciating. My survival was feeding pure evil, and I was powerless to stop it.”

“Hey,” Derek murmurs, rubbing his stomach through the blanket. “You know that I don’t blame you for that, and that Scott doesn’t blame you for Allison.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Stiles snaps. “Without me, it couldn’t have done anything.”

“You were a victim, just like they were.”

He shakes his head, not wanting to hear any logical arguments at the moment. Still not looking at Steve or Barnes, he tries to get his emotions under control and continue.

“I was trapped in my head, in my body, screaming into a black abyss,” he says. “It wouldn’t let me sleep or eat or feel anything but pain as I watched it rip into everyone I loved. When they finally got it out of me, they said they could kill it, only it might kill me. When they actually destroyed it and I was left standing, the only thing I felt was disappointment.”

No one has ever understood his emotions immediately after he had his body back. Even though Dr. Newling worked wonders with him, had supernatural experiences and had treated patients with trauma that came close to his own, no one truly got it. The academic part of him was curious about Barnes’ thoughts upon hearing this.

“And for the next four months, every day when I woke up, I begged my dad, Scott, Derek, anyone who would listen to just kill me.” Stiles breathing hitches as he recalls the darkest part of his life. “I remembered everything I did, everyone I killed, and I remembered _enjoying_ it. It’s been almost a decade and I still wake up screaming some nights because when I’m weak, I _miss it_ , feeling that good, having one purpose in life and excelling at it.”

His last words rush out of him, even though he tries to hold them back. Derek and his therapist are the only two people who knew he felt that way, and shame rushes over him in a wave. “ _That’s_ why I wake up screaming. It’s not because of what I did. It’s because of how I felt when I did it.”

The room is quiet after his last admission. Once Stiles gets his breathing and tears under control, he moves his head to see Steve and Barnes’ reactions. Steve has tears in his eyes, and he has Barnes’ head on his shoulder, rubbing a hand across his shoulders. Stiles has never seen the man accept or even want comfort and he feels guilty that his story caused it.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, his voice finally giving out thanks to the tears.

Steve squeezes Barnes’ shoulder, and the supersoldier looks up, dry-eyed but troubled. He’s surprised that Stiles is looking at him. “Why?”

“I told you that this would be hard. Recovery isn’t linear, but I never wanted you to be hurt or set back because of my own issues.”

Barnes shakes his head firmly. “No, that’s not it. It’s just…” He trails off, blowing out a long, deep exhale. When he looks up, there’s relief on his face. “You _get_ it.”

Stiles nods slowly, understanding the emotion and feeling hope bloom in his chest. He’s seen the expression on other client’s faces, and even some on his pack’s faces when they find a kindred spirit. He’s only ever felt it with Derek, but not with _this_.

“Yeah. I get it.”

He reaches a hand out, leaning so that Barnes can take it, if he wants. The other man scoots the chair forward, and hesitantly shakes his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Different people experience panic attacks, flash backs, and recovery different ways. This is based off of my own experiences. Everyone experiences these things differently. 
> 
> To all my readers, I love you all. Be safe and if you need me, I'm here.


	17. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets a sneak peek into Stiles and Scott's relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lovelies! I am blown away by the response to the last chapter. I was more concerned with people not hurting themselves since it was such a dark chapter. And although I know it hit a lot of people hard, everyone seemed to really enjoy the pain. I tried to balance the information with the emotions and I'm glad everyone enjoyed it. This chapter is much shorter but it's a little more light-hearted. There's some more Steve and Stiles bonding, and Steve gets a peek into Stiles' relationship with Scott. 
> 
> Title comes from the song "Recovery" by James Arthur. Such a good song in general. Give it a listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TMZ1dTs0NPo).
> 
> _In my recovery  
>  I’m a soldier at war  
> I have broken down walls  
> I defined  
> I designed  
> My recovery_

Even after the emotionally charged conversation with Steve and Barnes, Stiles still feels off-kilter. He cancels the study group on Monday, but emails all the notes and the research he’s done so far. He goes outside for some fresh air, but the thought of people makes his skin crawl, so he goes out onto a terrace on the upper levels of the tower instead. It helps clear his head, but this is going to be one of those bad days that turn into a bad week. There’s no rushing through it. Like he’s been telling Barnes, and tells all his clients - recovery isn’t linear, and pushing will only be detrimental to your own health.

But he’s missing something. Still. Derek’s been amazing, and Thor has come around to talk about Stiles’ process in recovery both now and post-nogitsune. Steve stuck around for a lot of those conversations, more to help Bucky than for his curiosity. That mindset helps Stiles explain things better, more disconnected from the events. 

In the end, Derek is the one who pinpoints what he needs. While he’s text the pack, and even talked to his dad on the phone, he hasn’t had a face to face with Scott. They’ve both been busy, with Scott in his final year of veterinary school and Stiles being where he is. Their Skype session after his last emotional rollercoaster helped immensely, and sure enough, as soon as Derek mentions it, Stiles grabs his phone and texts Scott, setting up a time. 

They always Skype alone, Derek giving them space. Stiles heads for the conference room since Derek was making dinner again - he’s going to get some pretty amazing sex for all the cooking he’s doing when Stiles feels better - but sends a text inviting Steve along if he has the time.

He’s compared Steve to Scott a lot, and especially after the nogitsune reveal, that comparison is even more blatant. Barnes opened up about a lot of the Winter Soldier trauma he went through, and once Stiles is feeling better, he’s going to dive into that shitfest without abandon, but Steve’s reaction to those stories was a parallel to how Scott behaved during Stiles’ recovery process. 

Ten minutes before the scheduled Skype session, Steve walks in the room with a small smile on his face. “Hey. You look a bit better.”

Stiles returns the grin. “Thanks. I feel better. I’m going to feel a lot better after this.” He gestures to the computer and nods for Steve to sit down. “I’m going to Skype Scott. I think it’d be good for you to watch, because you might be able to use some of the arguments Scott always uses against me for Barnes.”

Steve snorts and takes a seat. “That kind of talk, huh?” 

Snorting, Stiles boots the program. “Oh yeah. Derek rightly pointed out that I need an extra kick in the pants, and no one can do that better than Scott can.” He readjusts the computer once he sees the webcam angle. “I can’t show you, since no one knows who exactly I’m under contract with, but I’m going to tell him bare basics and let him know you’re there. It won’t change anything, but I want to be honest.”

“Of course.” Steve scoots his chair back a bit, but he’s still able to see the screen. 

The call comes in a lot earlier than Stiles expects, and he jumps at the noise. It’s Scott’s screen name calling, but not his face when the call connects. Stiles smiles widely. “Hey, Kira.”

“Hi, Stiles!” She waves and smiles. “Oh, it’s so good to see your face. You need to come home and visit. I miss you.”

When she gives him an exaggerated pout, Stiles laughs. “We’ll see. I know Derek misses you too. You haven’t had a lesson in a while.”

She rolls her eyes. “Just because we both have leather jackets does _not_ mean that he’s training me to be his mini-me.”

“Keep dreaming that dream, little toaster.”

The exchange is familiar and like a soothing balm over his hurt heart. Kira sees the relief on his face and gives him a warm smile. “I know that you’re waiting on Scott, but I just wanted to see you and say hi. Love you.”

“Thanks, K. Love you, too.” Stiles laughs when Scott’s hands grip the back of the computer chair and drag Kira out of frame as she yells at her husband. Scott slides into the frame on the reclaimed chair, gripping the computer desk when he goes sailing past. “Smooth, Scotty,” Stiles says dryly.

“Shut up,” he responds with a grin. “Like you don’t do the same to your wife.”

Stiles groans and covers his face with his hand. “He’s going to throw you into a tree if he hears you say that again. Besides, we all know that _I’m_ the wife in this situation.”

“Uh huh.” Scott raises his eyebrow. “And where is Derek now?”

He slides down in his chair. “Making me dinner.” Scott snickers. “Shut up!”

Steve is holding back his own laughter, and when Stiles glances at him, Scott raises his eyebrow. With a sigh, Stiles decides to get down to business. “Okay, so, just a head’s up, someone is sitting in the room with me. I can’t tell you who, because of the NDA, but know that he knows about the supernatural, the nogitsune, and everything. Even Derek likes him.”

“Lies,” Scott says flippantly. “Derek doesn’t like anybody but you and that’s only sometimes.”

Stiles snorts. “But for real, the client I’m working with is going through some very similar circumstances, and since this guy,” he thumbs to his right, where Steve is sitting, “is the Scott to my client’s Stiles, I thought it would do him some good to sit in.”

Frowning, Scott leans forward towards the camera. “Okay, so what’s up?”

He bites his lip, trying to figure out how to start. “I had a nightmare.” Scott doesn’t say _I know_ or _what about_. He allows Stiles to gather his thoughts, expression open and calm, which is just another reason why Stiles really should have done this earlier. “It started out about Allison, and then it moved onto my mom. I came in contact with a huge needle the day before, so that was also a theme.”

“That sucks, dude. I’m sorry.” Scott pauses, watching Stiles closely. “But I’m guessing that’s not all, is it?”

Stiles shakes his head, but can’t continue on. Yet again, he’s grateful that Scott always just knows what he can’t say, even from the other side of the country. “On a scale of _I took the last cookie_ to AN 1, how bad is your guilt right now?”

He snorts at the scale, but it’s the one that works for them. “AN 1 literally means after nogitsune, day one,” he tells Steve before turning back to Scott with a shrug. “I dunno. Maybe like a year AN?”

“Stiles,” Scott says in a warning tone. 

Rolling his eyes, Stiles caves. “Fine. Fine. Like a week AN. There. You happy?”

His tone is a lot more snappy than he means, but Scott doesn’t take offense. He never does. “You know I’m not, but I’ll talk until I’m hoarse to convince you that you don’t need to carry that guilt.”

“Your vocal cords heal too fast,” Stiles mutters, but Scott ignores him, even though he _knows_ he was heard. 

“Okay, let’s go. Throw all the excuses at me and I will logic them away.” Scott squares his shoulders like he’s about to get into a childish fistfight through the computer. “I can take it. I’m ready.”

The joke does the trick, breaking the tense atmosphere for a moment. Stiles starts easy, because he’s not ready to deal with the hard issues just yet. 

“I killed Allison,” he says in a low voice, unable to even look at Scott as he says it. He doesn’t know if it’s sad or some other emotion that he considers killing his brother’s first love as an _easy_ topic. 

“Nope,” Scott counters immediately. “The thing that possessed you killed Allison..”

Stiles clenches his jaw, purposefully ignoring the rebuttal. “I tortured Lydia when I was down in the tunnels.”

“Still not you, dude. It was that thing wearing a copy of your body. I know because I watched it die while you survived.” Scott raises his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for Stiles to go through the rest of the arguments.

“I was the one holding the sword when you were stabbed,” he snaps. Stiles always gets angry during these conversations, irrationally and inevitably. He was much more angry after the events happened, when he hit the anger stage of grief. Words weren’t the only thing he threw around. 

Scott shrugs, unconcerned. That just makes him angrier, but Scott usually tries to get his anger to burn out through frustration. “You were possessed. You apologized, and I forgave you.”

“Well....” he trails off, slumping onto the conference table. “You’re stupid.”

“I know. I’m friends with you,” he says with a lopsided grin. “But you apologized, more than enough. I forgave you then and I’ll continue to forgive you. Even for Allison.”

He starts to tear up and takes a few deep breaths to steady himself. He’s _not_ going to keep crying over this. “I know. But I need you to keep saying it.”

“I will. As many times as you need to hear it. You know that we all will, because we love you.” 

“A whole lot!” Kira yells off-screen, and both Scott and Stiles grin, even if Stiles’ is a bit weaker than Scott’s. 

His smile fades quickly though, as his brain circles back to those dark days. Hands clenching, Stiles takes a deep breath. “Yeah, but if I hadn’t let it get my body in the first place, all those people wouldn’t have died.”

“You didn’t _let_ anything happen.” Scott’s easy demeanor fades, resolve face going strong. “The three of us did what we had to do to save our parents and stop Jennifer. We were _surviving_.”

“It could have chosen anyone and it went after me. There had to be a reason.” Stiles pulls at a string on his sleeves. “You could have fought it off. You’re stronger than me.”

With a sigh, Scott shakes his head. “Okay, that’s way off and you know it. Did you forget that all three of us had issues? I couldn’t control my shift. How the hell would I have fought off a thousand year old spirit whose entire existence was to make people lose control?” His voice softens as he leans his head on his hand. “You fought it off. You put yourself through hell to protect yourself when we didn’t even know it was in you. The shit you went through at Eichen was bad enough.”

“I gave in.”

“You were emotionally manipulated. Oliver was holding a drill to Malia’s head on the nogitsune’s orders unless you let it in. You saved her life. You know that she doesn’t hold that over you. I can get her over here if you want to hear it straight from her mouth.”

“Oh God, no,” Stiles says in a rush. The last thing he needs to do right now is see and hear Malia and her blunt as hell wisdom. “When Derek calls her later, I’ll talk to her.” He goes back to the computer screen, rolling his shoulders because even though he already feels better, there’s still tension in his body that he can’t get rid of. “But--”

“Stiles,” Scott interrupts softly with a smile on his face. “It was not your fault. None of the people who died while you were possessed or while it was wearing your face are your fault. You fought it, at great cost to yourself during and after the possession. Did you fight and fail? Yeah. But that’s not on you. It was a thousand year old malevolent spirit. You were seventeen. And in the end, you took your experience and used it to help people who suffered.”

He heaves a sigh, tilting his neck back to stare at the ceiling. “I know. I do, but… I don’t care if it wasn’t me. It was my face. Those people who died… it was me they last saw. They don’t know that I was possessed. It’s my face on the security cameras. It was _my_ hand that twisted the sword, and _my_ voice that commanded the Oni to kill everyone.”

“And it’s your hands that help people. It’s your voice that calms them. It’s your face that brings them peace.” Scott leans forward, a serious expression on his face. “No jokes right now, okay? Pay attention to me. You’re my brother and I love you. You’re a _good_ person. You make mistakes, but you apologize. You feel guilt and empathy towards the victims, and you work yourself hard to atone for that. Your dad loves you, and so does mom. They’re proud of you, and you know that Claudia is proud of you, too.”

Stiles quickly wipes away the tear that falls, sniffling in the wake of Scott’s earnest confession, especially at the mention of his mother’s name.

“I know, Scotty. Love you, too.”

“Good,” he says firmly. “I wish I could be there to give you a hug. You need to come home and visit soon.”

“I’ll try,” Stiles promises, even if he’s not sure how that would work out. “I have Derek to cuddle in the meantime.”

Scott still frowns, but nods. “You call, text, or Skype me if you need me, okay? I don’t care about the time difference or anything. You’re more important.”

Stiles gives him a small smile. “You’re a good brother, Scott.”

“I know. I had you for an example.”

“Oh God, stop it,” Stiles says with an embarrassed groan. The alpha laughs. “Look, I’m gonna go, because my eyes have leaked enough in the past few days to last me a year and dinner is probably ready.”

“Drink water and _sleep_ ,” Scott orders. “I’ll check in with Derek, and if you don’t, I’m telling Mom. You know she’ll kick your ass if you don’t take care of yourself.”

He chuckles. “I’ve gotten the novel length texts. Trust me. I’ll be good.”

They say their goodbyes with Kira popping in for a final wave before the call ends. Stiles sits back with a heavy sigh, grounding himself before he turns to Steve. “I hope you took notes.”

Steve’s gaze is still locked on the computer screen, despite the fact that the Skype window is blank. “I did and you’re right. I needed to hear that.” He finally looks at Stiles. “Thank you for letting me sit in on that and experiencing that moment.”

“You’re welcome.” He shuts off the computer and slides it into his computer bag. “Come on. Let’s see if Derek’s done with dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. Even though I may not respond right away, I love reading comments from my readers. It makes my day and week. And if you want to throw a little extra good vibes my way this week, I'll appreciate it. I'm on call this weekend, which is always hectic as hell, and my immediately supervisor and the majority of my support at work is on a much needed vacation. It's already crazy. 
> 
> As always, stay safe and healthy, my darlings. I'm here for you in the comments or on tumblr.


	18. Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve rights a wrong and Stiles gets tackled. He's okay though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my darlings! What a week. Thank you for the wonderful comments and well-wishes. My weekend on call was the worst I've had and this week has been no different (Who enjoys working 70 hours a week? Apparently me!) but all that changes tomorrow. You're getting this chapter a day early because tomorrow I am going on VACATION. Granted, I'm just driving to my parents' house (who I haven't seen in six months) and doing absolutely nothing but doesn't that sound glorious? Plus it's out in the country on a lake. Yes, please. 
> 
> This chapter is another one of my favorites and I think everyone will like it as well. Title song comes from Something New by the Score. It's my theme song for two of the characters in this chapter.

A week later, Stiles finally feels like he’s steady again. He attended his classes and reconnected with his professors and study group, catching up on the work that he missed. His clients are also understanding, especially the ones who are aware of his past with PTSD. For some, it gives them a closer bonding moment, which is a point in his favor.

Scott was true to his word and checks up on him frequently, worried that the work Stiles is doing is causing him to push himself too hard. Sometimes Derek agrees, but Stiles insists it’s not, even if sometimes the answer is yes. He’s doing much better about his self-care, though. Especially now that Steve and Barnes are also aware of his limits. 

Steve’s been more involved with Barnes outside of his and Stiles’ sessions, and Stiles is seeing improvement in both supersoldiers. They both have their bad days, and Stiles wants to work with Steve more in depth if he can after Barnes. For now, he’ll stick to just the one supersoldier.

It’s a Saturday, and all the Avengers are gathered in the common area, and Stiles finally feels mentally able to be in the room with a lot of people, some of whom drive him a little crazy, aka Stark. Most of them seem to be in a good mood, and he’s surprised when even Jane and Dr. Banner are in the room. 

“Is there a party?” he asks, sliding onto a stool next to Darcy. Clint is on his other side, arms crossed and staring straight ahead. Stiles frowns and waves his hand in front of Clint, but there’s no reaction. His hearing aids are in, but Stiles learned that doesn’t mean anything because they can easily be turned off. 

“Don’t bother,” Darcy tells him, peeling apart the Oreos on the plate behind her and licking off the cream. “He’s been asleep for at least twenty minutes. He just got back from some super secret mission thing and he’s zonked.”

Stiles blinks as he registers what Darcy says because he has never known anyone who could actually sleep with his eyes open. Stiles tried to learn in high school so he could fool teachers, but could never manage it. 

“Don’t,” Derek calls out from his place next to Steve, staring at him sternly.

“I didn’t do anything!” Stiles says defensively.

“I _know_ you,” the alpha fires back. “Let him sleep and for god’s sake, don’t try to re-enact the Lord of the Rings scene.”

Stiles deflates and leans back against the island, his elbows propping him. “Woulda been funny,” he mutters. Darcy snorts so hard she starts to cough and choke. 

As he looks around, he notices that everyone _does_ seem to be waiting on something. The area between his shoulder blades itch as he squirms on the stool. “No, seriously, what’s going on?”

Darcy shrugs, looking unconcerned as she twists another Oreo apart. “Not sure. Thor said that Steve requested everyone come up here. Apparently there’s a surprise?”

Stiles isn’t a fan of surprises. He’s a planner. He likes to have things planned, which is sometimes a hassle because trying to plan with the pack is like herding fucking _cats_ , but usually between him and Lydia, they get stuff done. Frowning, he’s about to shuffle over to Derek because the more he sits, the more he feels _off_ , and he doesn’t know why. 

Just as he stands, Derek walks over to him and grasps his wrist, dragging him towards the middle of the room. “What are you doing?” Derek doesn’t answer him, twisting him so that he faces the elevator’s direction. “This is not an answer.”

Derek smooths a hand right over the itch on his back, and Stiles settles a bit. “Relax. It’ll be fine.” Stiles frowns at him over his shoulder, but Derek turns his head forward. 

Steve chuckles and walks over. “He’s right. It’ll be fine.” 

Blinking, Stiles looks from Steve, to Barnes, to Derek, and back to Steve again. “In what way is that supposed to make me feel better. _What_ are you doing back there?” he snaps over his shoulder. Derek is lining the space behind Stiles with pillows and cushions from the couches. “The fuck?”

“I second that,” Stark says as he enters the room. Stiles jumps, not realizing that the man hadn’t been in the room, and then he panics, because he recognizes the woman walking next to him. Pepper Potts. Her hair is almost the same shade of Lydia’s, and she looks just as fantastic in a white pant suit and heels that have her almost coming up to Steve’s height. 

“I’m so sorry that we haven’t met before, but I’ve been flying between the coasts lately,” she explains, holding out her hand for him to shake. Stiles is rooted to the spot, but holds out his hand so he’s not a complete idiot. “I’m Pepper, and Steve’s told me how you’ve been such an amazing help to everyone.”

He’s a bit flummoxed because that’s way more praise than he thinks he deserves, but that’s probably the leftover guilt speaking. “Thank you, Ms. Potts,” he says, hoping that his blush isn’t too out of control. “I’m just doing my job.”

Her expression tells him that she knows exactly how modest he’s really being as she introduces herself to Derek, telling them both to _please call me Pepper_. Stiles scratches his head and glares at Steve and Barnes, because they apparently have big mouths. “Really?” he hisses. “The hell have you been saying about me?”

Barnes smirks, catching on to Stiles’ discomfort quicker. He’s already unsteady about standing in the middle of the damn room, and now Pepper Potts is waltzing in? Stiles narrows his eyes, vowing to get revenge for whatever they’ve done. He’s already proven he’s damn good at it, too.

“The truth,” Steve says. “I wasn’t going to let the only things she heard come from Tony.”

He thinks that through, and eventually nods. “Okay. Point. Thanks.” He glances up when Derek joins him. Swallowing nervously, Stiles punches Steve when the supersoldier snickers at him. It’s just as hard as punching Derek, but it still makes him feel better.

Pepper leans forward and whispers something into Steve’s ear, which makes him grin. “Thank you, Pepper,” he tells her. She smiles back and joins Stark on the only couch that still has it’s cushions. Steve turns back to Stiles and Derek has finally finished doing whatever he was doing with the padding behind Stiles, circling in front. For a moment, Stiles is worried someone is going to attempt to body slam him, but he can protect himself. Although he doesn’t think Derek would condone that. Plus, Thor is in the room, arm around Jane. He’s got Stiles’ back. 

“ _What_ is going on?” he asks in exasperation. 

“I wanted to thank you for all the work you’ve done for us. You were brought on to help Bucky, and you have, but at great risk to yourself. You’ve also helped a lot of us, and you deserve more than we’ve given you.” 

Stiles frowns at Steve’s explanation. “I’m under a contract. I’m fine, Steve.”

The supersoldier shakes his head. “Not as fine as you could be. So I asked Derek and Pepper to help me with something. It took a week, but I just wanted you to know that your sacrifices have been noted and appreciated. I didn’t realize how hard it was on you until I watched you talk to Scott.”

He swallows, because it’s been awhile since he’s seen Scott. The Skype session helped, but Scott is his brother and one of his alphas. Stiles may not be a wolf, but he still feels the pull of wanting the nearness of pack. He and Derek really need to go see Lydia soon.

“I know you miss him,” Steve continues softly. “And I know that because of all the paperwork you were forced to sign, you can’t really leave to see your family or tell them where you are. So I decided to do it for you.”

The words take awhile to penetrate his brain. When Stiles finally understands what Steve is getting at, he gapes. “Wait. What?”

Romanoff walks over to the island, sitting on the stool Stiles had perched on and elbowing Clint. “Wake up. The good part is starting.”

Stiles doesn’t understand what that means, but before he can ask, the elevator dings. He stands on his toes to look over Steve’s shoulder. The supersoldier moves out of the way, and his jaw drops, because _Scott is here_. 

“What--”

Before he can get any more words out, Scott is across the room and launching himself at Stiles. The alpha twists at the last minute so he takes the impact, but he hits the pillows and couch cushions as they slide across the slick floor.

“Ah. The pillows make sense now,” Stark says. 

Stiles ignores them all, because _Scott is here_. He grips his brother close as they wrap around each other like octopuses. Tears gather at the corner of his eyes, because this is one of the best thank yous he could have received.

He’s not sure how long they roll around laughing, but when Stiles looks up, Kira is smiling at them from under Derek’s arm. She waves at him and he laughs, because of course Scott wouldn’t go anywhere without Kira. 

Scott stands and hauls Stiles up, wrapping a firm around his waist. Stiles hooks his arm around Scott’s neck and drags him close. “You are in such trouble,” Stiles says, although the smile on his face negates the threat. “How the hell did you keep this a secret?”

“Oh my god,” he groans. “It was _so hard_. I made Kira look at every text I typed to you before I sent it because I was so nervous it would slip. That’s why I couldn’t answer the phone last night when you called. I just knew I would tell you that I was packing to come see you.”

He cackles, because that is such a Scotty thing to do. Dragging him forward, he stops in front of Steve and Barnes. “Dude, _thank you_.”

Scott makes a face. “You can’t call him dude.”

“I can call him whatever the hell I want,” Stiles says, making a face right back at Scott. “The first time I ever talked to him I called him Captain Asshole.”

“Dude!” Scott groans, pulling away from Stiles. “ _Why_?”

Stiles thinks it’s fairly straightforward, himself. “Because he was being an asshole!”

Scott actually facepalms and turns back to Steve with an apologetic expression on his face. “I’m so sorry. We tried to housetrain him, but it wouldn’t take. He has manners. I promise. They’re just… buried.” He holds out his hand to Steve. “Scott McCall. Thanks for organizing this.”

Steve grins and shakes Scott’s hand. “Steve Rogers, and it was my pleasure. Although I have yet to see those manners.”

“Oh fuck off,” Stiles says, spinning on his heel as all the Avengers start to laugh. He makes a beeline for Kira and Derek, pulling the kitsune into a hug. “I’m going to hug my grateful sister-in-law and you can just stay over there. So there.”

Kira laughs and snuggles into the hug as he rocks them gently. “He missed you,” she tells him. “He was really worried about you the past few weeks. I’m glad we got to come.”

With a sigh, because he can never stay mad at Scotty for long, Stiles nods. “Me, too.” He catches Thor’s eye over Kira’s shoulder and grins. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

She has an open and curious expression on her face, but the moment he turns her around, Kira squeals and slaps both hands over her mouth. “Omigod!” she says, practically running over to the god. “I didn’t know you were here! I am such a _huge_ fan.”

Thor smiles widely at her and reaches out his hand. “Stiles has told me about you and your training. I am so glad to meet you.”

Stiles snorts and leans against Derek. “How long are you guys going to be here?”

“Want to get rid of us already?” Scott asks, and Stiles aims a half-hearted kick in his direction.

“No. I’m just trying to plan. I can’t miss this week at Columbia, but I want to spend time with you, too.” He’s missed so much that his grades are going to start suffering if he doesn’t get involved again, not to mention all the sessions he’s missed with his clients and how that’s going to affect his papers for his internship professor.

Scott sidles up to him with a grin. “We’ll be here for at least a week, maybe two. I called in the favor Satomi owes us so she’s watching things at home. Plus, our parents and Peter are there. I don’t think it’ll be _too_ much of a crater when I get back.”

Snorting, Stiles shakes his head. That’s a rather optimistic outlook. But, it _is_ Scott. In retaliation, Scott tackles him down to the cushions again and Stiles squirms, trying to get away. “Will you quit it, you dick?!”

“Let me love you!”

“Huh,” Steve says, raising his eyebrow at Derek. “You weren’t kidding.”

Scott stops, staring at Steve and Barnes before glaring at Stiles. “Dude!”

“What? Derek did it!”

“Yeah, right,” Scott says, rolling off the cushions and gracefully getting to his feet. There’s no way that Stiles can emulate it, so he embraces the flails that it takes to steady himself in the mass of pillows. 

“I’m confused,” Stark says from right behind him. Stiles yelps and slips on the pillows, falling right back into the mound. The superhero doesn’t care, looking between Scott and Stiles with narrowed eyes. “You said that you’re brothers, but you look nothing alike and your last names are different.”

Scott’s shoulders straighten, but Stiles puts a hand up to request help out of the pile. After he’s pulled to his feet, Stiles wraps an arm around Scott. “We’ve been best friends since kindergarten, and his mom and my dad married after we graduated high school.”

Stark crosses his arms. “And the annoying little shit?”

Confused, Scott frowns at Stiles. “Who?”

“Liam.”

Scott huffs and punches Stiles in the arm, albeit gently. “Will you stop calling him that?”

“He’s an annoying little shit and I’m going to tell him so.”

“ _You’re_ an annoying little shit.”

Stiles shrugs. “And?” Scott looks even more exasperated and Stiles rolls his eyes. “Look, it’s how we show love, Scotty. You don’t have to understand it. Just let us do our thing.”

Shaking his head, Scott turns to Stark. “Our parents are Liam’s guardians, but he really is like a little brother to us. _Some of us_ ,” he says pointedly, “have even got the sibling rivalry down to an art.”

He smirks, taking the insult Scott meant as a compliment. They hang around the common area for a bit more, Stiles introducing Scott and Kira to the rest of the Avengers. Scott admires Clint’s bow with a gleam in his eye, and while Kira holds onto Scott’s hand, Stiles turns his back to the scene under the guise of checking his phone. Steve and Barnes notice, and help Derek block him from the view with their bodies. Steve is definitely getting a present after today. 

After an hour, Stiles has enough and drags Scott and Kira up to their apartment so they can properly flail together. The moment the door is closed, Stiles abruptly kills Friday’s monitoring system and tackles Scott down to the couch.

“Oh my God, dude, I am so glad you’re here.”

Scott wraps his arms around Stiles firmly, and he can feel the tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. Having Scott here, as his brother and his alpha, is already steadying him. If he were having this many bad days so close together in any other situation, he definitely would have gone home to ground himself earlier. Belatedly, he knows this is what Derek was talking about when he said that Stiles wasn’t taking care of himself. Yeah, he can get on board with that now. 

Kira piles on top of them, settling cross-legged over Stiles’ back as a comforting weight. Scott doesn’t wheeze or complain about having two people on top of him, grinning at them both. 

“And I can’t believe you’re working with the _Avengers_. I about died when I got the Skype call from Derek and frickin’ Captain America popped into frame.”

“He fell out of the chair,” Kira giggles. Stiles laughs and gives her a high five. 

Scott glares. “You were so surprised that you blew the overhead light!”

“Yours is better,” Stiles says. Scott huffs, but doesn’t disagree. 

“What’s the craziest thing that’s happened that you can tell us about?” Kira asks with excitement, bouncing slightly. 

Stiles groans and tries to slap at her leg to get her stop. He thinks, honestly unsure of what he could talk about. “Uh… I got to watch Thor and Steve play ultimate frisbee with his shield?”

Scott’s eyes bug out. “Seriously?!”

He snickers and nods, setting his head down on Scott’s chest. “Yeah. It was pretty funny. When I turn her back on, Friday can play the video of it on the TV, but I want you to myself for a bit.”

Kira starts to run her hands through Stiles’ hair and he melts. “So, no issues there? The surveillance hasn’t been a problem? I know Peter mentioned that it was one of the biggest issues with you taking this contract. It makes sense now.”

Nodding, Stiles settles in. “Yeah, it’s pretty easy. I only had issues a few times, but Thor is my bro now, and he can circumvent the security, too. If I’m having an off day, he covers for me.”

She pulls on his hair and he whines. “I can’t believe you know the God of Thunder!”

Stiles wiggles until he can reach his back pocket and pulls out his cell phone. He hands it over, because the pack knows the unlock code _and_ their fingerprints are in the system. “Look at the contacts.”

Kira starts to giggle when she sees his contacts list. “He has a cell phone?!”

“No way!” Scott says, trying to make a grab for the phone. He disturbs Stiles and Kira, who yell and almost fall off, before Derek chuckles from the other side of the couch and hands over his own phone. Scott goes through similar motions, looking through the contacts. “Dude!”

“He doesn’t respond to texts if he’s not in the building,” Derek says, arranging Stiles and Scott’s legs on his lap more comfortable. Stiles only squirms a little at being disturbed. “Mostly because he always forgets he has one and Friday relays texts and calls when he’s here. If we need him for anything, we always text Darcy.”

Kira and Scott both keep thumbing through the contacts. Stiles’ phone has way more, so Kira’s fingers are getting more of a workout. “I also can’t believe you put emojis next to their names.”

“Did he nickname them?” Scott asks, tossing the phone back to Derek. 

“No,” Stiles mumbles, closing his eyes with a deep breath. “One, who could get into my phone? Two, who would believe I had the fucking Avengers in my contacts?”

Both Scott and Kira nod their ascent. She slides Stiles’ phone back into his pocket, and he snickers. “Your wife is copping a feel, Scotty.” Like the true brother he is, Scott just laughs and nudges Stiles. “Imma take a nap.”

“I need to talk to Derek anyway.” Scott scratches his shoulder, and Kira continues to play with his hair. “You just settle in, buddy.”

“Awesome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, my lovelies. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I know I've gotten some comments that they hate Scott but like how I write him. To be honest, I tell people don't even think of him as the same character. The writing for him was atrocious after season two (and wasn't that's great in the first two seasons either). He's a decent human being in this. 
> 
> Also, even though I'm on vacation until the 28th, I plan on updating next Friday. That being said, I have not written past chapter 19. Would I love to bang out more chapters while I'm lounging by the pool? Yes, but there's no telling if that will happen. Would you all rather I postpone chapter 19 for a week or have me post it like normal with the rest of the fic just up in the air? I hate posting WIPs for this reason, but back when I first posted this, I thought that I could easily finish it. Then the world exploded. 
> 
> As always, stay safe and healthy!


	19. Born For This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Barnes finally find out why Stiles agreed to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, sorry this didn't come out last week. I had an amazing vacation (I did NOTHING and it was GLORIOUS), but I didn't even get out my laptop. I play games on my Switch, crafted (beading and crocheting), slept, ate, and watched movies with my parents. Oh, and did laundry. Did I bring as much dirty laundry that would fit in my suitcase like I was back at college? Yes, yes I did. But I had to hit the ground running when I got back and I've worked every day since. I finally can sit down and post this sucker.
> 
> Second, I have not written the next chapter. I don't know when the next update will be, especially as my work life is still insane (see above). I will _never_ abandon this and may start putting snippets of unfinished chapters and outtakes on my [tumblr](https://dream-mancer.tumblr.com/). Feel free to request scenes over there or in the comments!
> 
> Chapter title comes from the song "Born For This" by the Score. It's so appropriate, there are no words. Give it a listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aJ5IzGBnWAc).
> 
> I'm super excited for you all to read this. It answers so many questions and I hope you're all satisfied. WAY more notes at the end.

The next day, Stiles and Derek take Scott and Kira out to see the city. He lets Steve and Barnes know, but promises to be back in the afternoon so they can talk since he’s already missed one day. Scott and Kira both understand and offer to see the sights themselves, but Stiles wants to show them a few things that they’d otherwise miss. 

They visit Central Park and the New York Public Library. He tells them they have to go to the Met, and Derek says if they go to museums, then the Natural History Museum also needs to go on their list. Stiles bitches that the South Street Seaport is being remodeled into a modern monstrosity, but the Sunset Ferries around Liberty Island are awesome. He gives them the name of an amazing Italian restaurant he and Derek found while waiting for their ferry one night. 

He offers to leave them exploring while he and Derek go back to the Tower. Scott waves them off, saying they’ll visit tomorrow while Stiles gets back to his usual routine. He appreciates the offer and happily calls a car service on Stark’s dime to whisk them back. They spend the entire drive back ogling all the puppy and kitten pictures Scott has stored on his phone. 

When they get back, Stiles heads to the conference room while Kira makes dinner, both because he needs to catch up with some work and because he figures Barnes or Steve will be there to talk. Sure enough, Barnes and Steve are both inside waiting, with Barnes watching Steve color in his coloring book. 

“Heyo,” Stiles chirps, falling into his chair. “What’s up?”

Steve looks up with his eyebrows raised. “You’re cheerful.”

He smirks but starts unloading his bag. “Yeah. I haven’t seen Scott in, like, half a year. It’s good to spend time with him.” He boots up his laptop and pulls out a handful of pens and highlighters. “Kira’s making dinner, and we’re inviting Thor, Jane, and Darcy over. Want to come?”

“Are you sure?” Steve frowns. “We don’t want to be a bother. Plus, we eat a lot.”

Stiles snorts loudly. “Really? I had no idea,” he says sarcastically before waving him off. “Scott is at the same power level as Derek. He eats just as much, and Kira does, too.” He smirks, because Kira wants to show off her sword and some of her fancy party tricks to Thor later at dinner, and that’s going to be funny to watch the reaction to. 

“That little thing?” Barnes asks, eyebrows raised. 

“Oh, now you _have_ to come to dinner,” Stiles exclaims. “It’s going to be dinner and a show.”

They don’t dive deep into any subjects, but the more they talk, the more Barnes relaxes. Stiles wasn’t aware that the other man was so off and he decides to stay the entire day in the conference room to make up for it. Hopefully, a fun evening with friends and seeing Scott and Stiles interact after the nogitsune talk will help. Scott forgives him, and they can show Barnes that Steve truly does as well. 

Scott comes to fetch them, and he smiles at Steve and Barnes. “Hey, I know I introduced myself earlier, but that was more to the group. I’m Scott, Stiles’ brother.”

God bless this man, because he doesn’t hold out his hand to Barnes or make a move toward him in any way. He knows from Stiles’ experiences that trauma often means no touching. 

“Just know that whatever he’s told you about me, I only got into those situations because he dragged me into it.”

Stiles squawks. “Excuse me? Liar McLiarson of the Lying Pants.” Scott’s eyebrow slowly rises, and Stiles hastily amends his statement. “Like, ten percent of those were your fault.”

“Wow. A whole ten percent. How am I going to live with myself?” he asks dryly before knocking on the door. “Come on. Food.” He nods at the supersoldiers. “You are both welcome to join us. I’ll drag out the really embarrassing baby stories on Stiles. I think I have some pictures.”

Stiles throws a pen at Scott, who catches it without looking, the show-off. Stiles sticks his tongue out just on principle. Scott at least helps him pack up, keeping up a steady stream of nonsense as he does. 

When they get into the apartment, Thor is already there. Derek has taken over the cooking, because Kira is showing Thor her favorite weapon. 

Except it doesn’t exactly look like one. Steve stops short, and Barnes runs into him with a grunt. Stiles snickers at their expression, because without context, the scene really does look like Thor is staring straight at Kira’s lady parts. 

“It is a fine make!” he says cheerfully. “I never knew they could be so versatile.”

She twists her hips so he can observe the full belt that wraps around her jean skirt. “Right? It defies the laws of physics, but who cares. It’s awesome and tingly.”

Barnes punches Steve’s arm while the other supersoldier chokes. Both are staring with wide eyes at the scene in front of them. “Is he…” Steve asks in a low voice. When Kira starts to unbuckle her belt, Steve backpedals like he’s in a cartoon to get to the door. 

For a second, Barnes looks like he’s going to join Steve in dashing for the door, but then Kira flicks the belt out of the belt loops and calls on her foxfire to bind the sword together. Everyone stares as her hands and arms flare with the fire, superheating the metal and melding the links together. When she’s done, she flips the sword a few times before handing it over to Thor, handle first. 

Stiles barely manages to keep a straight face. He crosses his arms as he turns to the supersoldiers. “You okay there, guys? If you didn’t want to have dinner, you could have just said so.”

They both glare at Stiles, but he’s immune at this point. Derek definitely has Steve beat in the glaring department, and while Barnes is a little intimidating, Stiles accidentally set one of Lydia’s Marc Jacobs handbags on fire once. Nothing will ever top that. 

“Fuck you,” Steve says, walking past and sitting on the couch. 

Barnes has tensed up at the sight of a weapon, not following Steve to the couch, and Stiles takes a few steps back to act as a barrier. He’s discovered that Barnes is much like Stiles in that he doesn’t appreciate surprises. They’re both curious, and once things are properly explained, they relax. With that in mind, he nods in Kira’s direction.

“Kira is a thunder kitsune. All kitsunes can control foxfire, but being a thunder kitsune, she also can conduct lightning. That’s why she fangirled in front of Thor yesterday.”

“Shut up!” she hisses, color blooming high on her cheeks. Scott laughs and wraps her in a hug so she can hide her face in his shoulder. 

Stiles grins and continues the explanation, especially as Barnes quickly relaxes. “She and Scott met in high school, and they went to college together. Want to know the best part? She got a degree in electrical engineering and _he_ became a vet. Make all the dog jokes you want. It never gets old.”

Used to the ribbing, Scott rolls his eyes. Thor finishes admiring Kira’s weapon and hands it back. Her hands spark over the handle, and the sword flashes back into metal links that she can easily thread through the belt loops on her skirt. 

“Where are Jane and Darcy?” Stiles asks, craning his neck to the kitchen. The only person inside is Derek. “Did they get sucked into a black hole?”

Scott turns wide eyed, and his grip on Kira becomes tighter. “Is that a thing that can happen?”

“No, you moron,” Stiles says before pausing. His life isn’t normal, but then again, neither are the lives of anyone in this room. “Um, maybe?”

Kira fights her way out of Scott’s hold, rolling her eyes. “Let’s be real, here. Out of the two of us, who would do better in a different dimension?” Scott opens his mouth to argue, but he relents without saying a word. Stiles snickers as she heads back to the kitchen, leaving Scott to pout. He heads over to the couch to sit next to Steve, but Stiles gets his ass in gear and slides in between them, which isn’t at all comfortable. 

They both stare at him strangely and even Barnes’ expression is wary. Stiles wiggles to get more comfortable and crosses his arms. Steve may be polite enough to not comment on his strange activities, but Scott doesn’t share a single one of those manners.

“Dude! Go sit somewhere else.”

“It’s my apartment!” Stiles counters. 

“Technically, it’s Tony’s apartment,” Steve says. Stiles twists and points at him with a glare. It has the same effect on Steve and Steve’s did on him. “I’m not going to fight him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Barnes tenses up again in his armchair, but Scott looks like his birthday and Christmas came early. “Derek told me that you two got to go at it. That’s awesome. I’m not as good as he is, but I still think it’d be neat.” “Yes, you are!” Derek calls from the kitchen. Stiles agrees and nudges Scott in the ribs. “We just have different fighting styles.”

“Yeah, but you could fight since you were little,” Scott reasons. “If I tried to fight when I was little, I’d turn blue in the face and then Stiles would end up punching someone for me and we’d _both_ get in trouble.”

They both start snickering like little boys, because those were the good times. Steve perks up, though, leaning forward so he can see Scott around Stiles. “That’s right. You had asthma?”

Scott groans and flops back onto the couch. “Ugh, yes, and it _sucks_. Totally glad it’s not an issue anymore. Now I don’t have to worry about stepping outside if the temperature drops.”

“Or if someone wears too much perfume.”

“Or if I laugh too hard.”

“Or if there’s a lot of pollen in the air.”

“Oh my god, we get it!” Stiles snaps. He waves his hands, like that will make the conversation stop. “Quit bonding.”

Barnes finally joins the conversation, although Stiles really wishes he would have kept his mouth shut. “Didn’t you say that Scott and Steve are practically the same person?”

Stiles makes a slashing motion across his neck as Barnes talks, but that doesn’t do him any good. He huffs and collapses back into the couch. “Yeah. That’s the problem. I do not need this one,” he points his thumb at Steve, “rubbing off on this one.” When he points to Scott, he goes ahead and pokes him in the arm. “I have enough of an issue keeping him out of trouble. If he could adopt every lost soul on this planet, he would. I’d rather hole up in an underground bunker with my laptop and Derek.”

They all chuckle and Thor takes a seat in the remaining armchair. “So you say, but you have dedicated your life to helping others. I think you would be by his side, no matter what.”

Stiles makes a face, because yeah, they got him there. He can feel his face flush. Scott grins and nudges him. “He’s got your number.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “I’d only do it to keep you out of trouble. Someone’s got to watch your back. And just because you’re married doesn’t mean it still isn’t my job.” 

Scott nuzzles into his shoulder, giving into his alpha instincts to scent-mark, and that makes Stiles blush more than Thor’s words. When his cheeks don’t stop burning, he gives up on keeping Scott and Steve separate. Bonding time is clearly going to happen whether Stiles wants it to or not. 

He pushes off the couch and waves at them. “Fine. Bond over your old lungs or whatever. I’m going to go elsewhere.”

“I love you, too!” Scott calls. 

“You look like a tree!”

Stiles shuffles into the kitchen, not answering the calls from the Avengers asking what in the world that comment meant, and Scott doesn’t bother trying to explain. It would take too long, and they already look crazy. It’s a throwback to the days when Stiles could actually play Call of Duty, and Scott knows that it means Stiles loves him just as much as he did before their lives got truly crazy. They just have a unique way of voicing that.

Kira and Derek have everything handled, so Stiles stands at the edge of the kitchen, able to hear conversation but also not in the middle of everything either. Stiles gives Derek a hug when he wanders close to grab a plate from the drying rack and gets a kiss to a still-warm cheek in return. 

When he tunes back into the conversation, Steve and Scott are happily bonding over the wonders that are having nurses for mothers, and how their mothers kept them alive against all odds thanks to their ailing health, even decades apart. Stiles catches Barnes’ gaze over their heads and smirks, giving him an _I told you so_ look. Barnes seems to realize how bad of an idea it was to let them converse now. Scott always looked up to Captain America when he was young, enjoying the comics when he was sick in bed. When they played, Scott was always either Batman or Captain America. While Stiles complained about being Robin, he never complained about being Bucky. Scott’s one of the few people that know why.

Despite what the pack thinks, he and Scott can’t actually speak telepathically, but sometimes they’re so on the same wavelengths, it really is scary. When Scott glances at Stiles over his shoulder with a small smile, Stiles nods, because Scott tells the story better than he does anyway. 

“But it’s still so weird. I mean, I wrote a paper on you.”

Barnes and Steve both blink in surprise, because Scott wasn’t talking to Steve, he was talking to Barnes. “You… did?”

Scott nods. “Yup, back in high school. We had to write about someone in history who changed our lives, and I picked you and your role in the Howling Commandos.” Steve and Barnes look so confused that Stiles barely holds back the snort. “I know that the comics portrayed you as a kid, but some of us actually know the truth.”

Barnes rolls his eyes and Steve snickers. 

"So, I know Stiles told you some of the crazy stuff in the supernatural world that happened to us, but he didn't tell you this story." Scott leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. His inner fanboy starts to come out. "The old Hale emissary--"

"Asshole," Stiles coughs very loudly, which gets him a pillow to the face from Scott who doesn't even look to see if it hit its mark, which is so cheating.

"--was captured by some evil person and kept in an ash circle, and I couldn't reach him. He was going to suffocate if I didn't get him down. The sheriff found us, and he had his service Glock, and from thirty feet away, he single-handedly shot the rope so cleanly through that it frayed and snapped immediately."

Stiles wants to fistpump and start bouncing around because his dad is a badass, but he gets more joy out of seeing the eyebrow raise from Barnes. It _was_ a difficult shot and his dad nailed it. Stiles may have made fun of him for not running over and just helping Deaton down, but it does make for a good story.

"The thing is, I knew he was a good shot before that. He was in the Army before he settled down to start a family, as overwatch in the Gulf War. I got to see him with his sniper rifle once. It was incredible. His whole family is incredible." Scott smiles at Barnes. "You see, _his_ dad was a little boy in World War II in a camp in Germany. The Nazis heard that the Howling Commandos were coming ahead of the Third Army to liberate a camp, and they tried to get the prisoners on a Death March further inland. The boy was taken prisoner when the Commandos got there quicker than expected and used as a human shield. Then a sniper took out the German who was going to escape and saved the boy's life with a shot no one could explain."

Both Steve and Barnes look shocked as Scott tells the story. It's not one in the history books and none of the other Commandos gave details about missions they ran. It’s a closely-guarded Stilinski family secret.

Derek runs a hand down Stiles' back and he gives his alpha a small, satisfied smile. He already knew this story.

"The sheriff's father said that the sniper was worried that he would be scared by the blood, so he abandoned his post and rushed down. When he got there, he told the little boy in Polish that he was a friend. And in English, the little boy told him that--"

"He was glad that my aim was better than my accent," Barnes says roughly.

Stiles clenches his hands so tightly that his knuckles pop and turn white. Scott nods and continues the story. "So, that boy grew up and wanted to be a sharpshooter, too. And he told the story to his son, who became a sniper and saved my life and the lives of people I cared about. He told _his_ son the story, too, and he's an amazing shot as well."

Steve, who had been staring at the floor through the tale, looks up at Scott. "Is he in the Army?"

Scott shakes his head with a small grin. "No. He couldn't join and become a soldier because he has ADD, but I think he does something just as important." At the expectant looks, Scott turns to face Stiles. "He helps the soldiers after they come home live with the shots they made."

Steve does an honest double-take. Stiles grins and reaches for his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. He flips it open so that his driver's license shows and hands it over. Stiles knows when he reads over the first name because he looks very confused at the spelling, but then he gets to Stiles' middle name. 

"Your middle name is James," Steve says roughly. "And your first name..."

"My grandfather's, the same one you saved," Stiles confirms. "Both of my parents insisted on it."

Steve hands over the wallet to Barnes, who looks over the name. "Mieczyslaw."

Stiles smirks. "Well, your pronunciation has gotten a lot better. Pop-pop still maintains that you couldn't get through a word without butchering it."

Steve turns around quickly. "He's still alive?"

Nodding, Stiles pulls out his phone and thumbs through pictures from the last time they saw each other during his last European trip. He hands it over to Steve. "We still Skype each other and everything. 82 and still going strong."

Steve hands the phone to Barnes next, and Stiles gets his wallet back. Kira walks up next to him and pokes him in the side. "I had no idea that was a thing!"

Stiles shrugs. "It's not something we advertise. It's not in the history books because my family doesn't talk about it and neither did the Commandos. I mean, cool shit like that happened all the time, so we didn’t really think we should blast the story from the hills, you know? Of course, that was before I found out that the man we all thought died in the Alps in '45 is alive and kicking the shit out of baddies now. My dad would get a kick out of it for sure."

"He was a sniper?" Barnes asks and Stiles nods, taking the phone and looking for some of his dad's service photos. He pulls one up that has his dad on the rifle and his spotter in the background and hands it back.

"Dad served until ‘93. When he came back, he and Mom decided to start a family, and she got pregnant three years later. Pop-pop was super happy, even if Mom was Ukranian." Stiles snorts. "She gave him a grandson and insisted I be named after him. She could have been a martian, and he wouldn't have cared after that."

Thor stands up and puts a hand on Stiles' soldier. "I would very much like to meet your father and grandfather. They sound like fine warriors."

Stiles snorts. "I would say sure, but that'll have to be a story for after the NDA expires."

Scott and Derek give Steve the side-eye, and Stiles wonders what the hell their dog senses pick up. 

Barnes rolls his eyes. "Do not." Steve resolutely ignores him and stands up, hands on his hips. "Ah, Christ," Barnes mutters. "Here we go."

"We're going to dissolve those NDAs. It's not fair to you at all."

Stiles blinks, because he has no idea where that came from. He looks at Kira and then Derek, who don't give him a clue as to what's going on. "Um, why? Because I can't tell my dad that the God of Thunder wants to meet him?" he asks dryly. "I think he'll get over it. Besides, can't Thor just swing his hammer and show up on my doorstep?"

Then he snickers, because that's a phrase he needs to not use. Scott also laughs, and they give each other a fistbump because they are little boys. Both Kira and Derek roll their eyes.

"Look, it's fine. I agreed to sign them, didn't I? And you already worked your way around them once for me."

Steve looks even more determined, and shit, that is not what he planned on. Barnes glares at Stiles at this point, but this is still not his fault.

"You had to get him started," Barnes says.

"I didn't start shit! I didn't give him this justice boner! He did it to himself!"

"You need to stop talking," Derek tells him. 

“Look,” Stiles says after taking a deep breath. “I know that you think this sucks, and yeah, it kinda does, but trust me. I know ways around loopholes because I’m a Slytherin badass. But my dad gets it. So does the pack. Am I super stoked that Scotty is here? Absolutely. Would it be cool to tell the fam some of the things I’ve seen? Sure. But I’m okay.”

Steve still looks unsure, but he isn’t completely drawn up anymore. Stiles takes that for a win. 

“And look, once we’re all done here, I can’t stop you from popping in on a Skype call with my dad or anyone else.” Stiles raises his eyebrows in what he hopes is a cajoling manner. “It’s not going to be as amusing as I hear the call with Scott and Kira was, but it’s something. Okay?”

Steve sits back down with a huff. “It’s not fair.”

“Neither is life, but here all of us are, against all the odds on the planet.” He glances over at Thor. “And then some, apparently. My point is, this is wonderful. I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful. I am. But I’m okay. I went into this knowing that I wouldn’t be able to say a thing to my dad, and that was harder than all the shit that’s gone down recently.”

Barnes looks between Steve and Stiles before leaning back in his seat. Their next few sessions are going to be doozies, he can already tell. Stiles really hopes this doesn’t screw up their progress. 

“Your dad wouldn’t believe you anyway,” Scott says with a grin, breaking the somewhat tense atmosphere with the joking truth, as usual. “How long did it take you to convince him that werewolves existed? And that was after we shifted multiple times.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Or Pop-pop? Jesus Christ, the lecture I had to give about how aliens exist was actually boring to me. _Me_.” Then he remembers a conversation he had with his grandfather and groans. “When I told him I was moving to New York a few years ago, he told me to try to find Steve and say hi. I told him it would never happen. He’s going to give me so much shit.”

Derek actually snorts because Pop-pop loves Derek and they secretly love to sass each other. “You said it, not me.”

Switching to a Polish accent, Stiles makes a face. “ _The world is not as big as you think. You will find him. You tell him I help teach technology if he need it_.” He switches back to his normal accent. “Like I didn’t teach him all that shit in the first place, and like Captain Obstinate can’t figure it out on his own. Please.”

“Stop ranting and come help me serve,” Derek tells him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These will be listed because I am a lister. 
> 
> 1\. This is the first scene I thought of when I came up with this fic idea. I was sitting at a stop light on my way home from work over three years ago listening to the song from the fic title and immediately text Jacy (my amazing beta and girlfriend) the relationship between Barnes and Stiles. Her response was somewhere along the line of DO EET. It blossomed into this beast. 
> 
> 2\. This scene is also one that I have rewritten the most in this fic. It's gone through four total rewrites and a million edits. I'm finally happy with it. 
> 
> 3a. The Third Army was badass (especially in World War II). They did actually liberate the Mauthausen-Gusen concentration camp complex in May 1945 which housed a large number of Polish prisoners. Death marches to other camps are well documented as well. As the Allies grew closer to the camps in 1944 and 1945, inmates were sent to the Mauthausen-Gusen complex, including inmates from the Auschwitz-Birkenau complex and Buchenwald. I know that doesn't gel with the MCU timeline but shhhh. I also am a history nerd and WWII is one of my favorite eras to study. 
> 
> 3b. I also chose the Third Army because they went into combat again during Operation Desert Storm and Desert Shield, where I have the Sheriff when he was in the Army. Hmmm. (Yes, I planned that.)
> 
> 4\. It actually is incredibly difficult to get into the US Armed Forces with ADD/ADHD. There are a lot of restrictions and Stiles wouldn't qualify.
> 
> 5\. Everything I said about NYC is true. Extra tips: Don't go to the Empire State Building. It's a waste of money. Do tour Liberty Island and Ellis Island (when the world opens again) but buy your tickets online and go early. They truly RUINED the South Street Seaport when they remodeled it. Pier 17 used to be so much fun. I have fond memories with Jacy there, eating ice cream on the pier and people watching. But if you want some of the best Italian food ever, head to the seaport to Il Brigante. There really is an amazing Italian restaurant that Jacy, echo, and I found while waiting for our Sunset Ferry time (which is also so worth it). Also, it goes without saying that the Met, Natural History Museum, and the New York Public Library are all amazing. I highly recommend the Bronx Zoo as well. I think that a carriage ride through Central Park is fun, but I was informed by the resident New Yorker that it's the tourist in me.


	20. What I've Become

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barnes and Stiles talk the morning after the big reveal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO IS FUCKING BACK. 
> 
> Y'all. JFC. My life. I did not expect this beast to take so long to write. Imma be honest, I literally wrote it in the last two hours, it has not been beta-read, so if you see errors, please point them out. BUT IT'S HERE. CHAPTER TWENTY. 
> 
> Chapter title is from the song Can You Hear Me Now by the Score. I've had it on repeat while writing this. This is from their newest album which is just *chef kiss*. Give it a listen [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8RDy31N0gdY)
> 
> Longer notes at the bottom. But enjoy!

Stiles doesn’t know how Barnes will react during their next session. They’ve had a streak of pretty solid mini-sessions since Stiles’ recounted his encounter with the Nogitsune. The bomb that Scott dropped about Stiles’ relation to Barnes is a pretty big one. There’s a reason he never disclosed it in the beginning, even after he and Steve got on the same page. 

He doesn’t change his routine, coming in at the same time with all his shit weighing him down and causing future-Stiles so much back pain. Stiles sighs when Barnes isn’t inside, but the man didn’t always beat him to the conference room. They _had_ stayed late the night before, especially once Jane and Darcy showed up and demanded horrifying Baby Stiles stories which Scott was happy to provide. With pictures and video. 

Maybe Barnes wants to sleep in. Maybe he now realizes how crazy Stiles is and doesn’t want to come anymore. Maybe he--

“Are you going in?”

“ _Fuck!”_ Stiles shouts, dropping his bags and banging his hip into the chair in front of him. While he was standing just in the doorway, Barnes came in and was waiting for him to move. “Why?! _Why_ do you want me to have a heart attack so badly? Jesus.”

Stiles doesn’t miss the small smirk on Barnes’ face, but at least the asshole helps him pick up the papers that went flying out of the half-zipped backpack that got tossed when he flailed. 

Once Stiles halfway settles in his seat, he glares at Barnes. “One day that question isn’t going to be rhetorical. I’m gonna want an answer. Alas, today is not that day.”

He hasn’t even set up his computer yet before Barnes throws him into the fire. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice is gruff but his eyes are clear and piercing. “About your grandfather?”

Stiles sighs and shoves all his things aside, not even wanting his papers to be a physical barrier. There are a lot of answers to that question and since he went to bed the night before, he’s been trying to figure out a way to present them in a way that will make sense. 

He sits back in his chair and uses his foot to slowly rock himself back and forth. Self-soothing motion for the win. “I don’t know if you know this, but your progress has been outstanding,” he starts. Barnes looks dubious but Stiles continues, not letting him interrupt. “I know that it’s weird to hear, but when we look at ourselves, we never think we’ve moved forward. Negative self-talk is a bitch. So take it from someone on the outside looking in - you are doing so well. Can we at least agree on that?”

This time, he waits for Barnes to nod his acknowledgement, even though he still doesn’t seem convinced. 

“Now I want you to think about the first time we sat down here. I’m not even talking about the first two months where we never said a single word together,” Stiles clarifies. “I mean the first time we sat at this table, just you and me, and what we talked about. Do you remember?”

That stupid smirk is back, which itself is such a tell for Barnes’ progress. “You mean when I scared you and you hurt yourself multiple times because you’re afraid of a breeze?”

Stiles laughs sarcastically. “I was _startled_ , not scared. Let’s get that out there, first of all, but do you remember what happened after that happened?” Barnes thinks for a few moments but shakes his head. “You left. We didn’t talk about a damn thing. You left and came back to make sure I was still there, then left again. That went on for about two weeks.”

Barnes seems startled and Stiles grins at him. “I told you, you’ve made progress. We didn’t have a huge breakthrough until you knew I could speak Romanian, but even then it took about another week or so for us to really get a relationship going.”

He lets that knock around in Barnes’ head for about a minute or so before leaning forward and resting his arms on the conference table. “So I want you to think back to each of those points. When we first met here, when we actually started talking, and when you started to trust me with your history. Hell, let’s throw in my backslide to the mix.” Stiles gestures to Barnes. “What would your reaction have been at any one of those points if I had told you? What about if you knew before I even showed up?”

Stiles doesn’t mean this to be rhetorical and sits as still as he can so he doesn’t distract Barnes from thinking. He really does want Barnes to think it through, not only in his own defense of not revealing the secret but also so that he can see how far he’s come in the months since Stiles and Derek came to the Tower. 

The silence gets to him and he decides to start his laptop and distract himself. Stiles doesn’t look up at Barnes as he enters his password and starts opening his documents. He also doesn’t want to point out the fact that Barnes is sticking around to sort out his thoughts instead of leaving to be alone is another huge mark of progress. Later, then. 

About twenty minutes after he’s debating on giving up and switching to solitaire, Stiles glances up at Barnes when he clears his throat. It’s been his tell that he’s ready to talk again so that Stiles can wind down his thoughts and get them out on the screen or paper. 

When he looks up at Barnes expectantly, the man shows signs of amazement. Stiles hopes that the expression is for his own advancements. Just as quickly as the look appears, it turns into one of understanding. 

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. “It would have ended in a shitshow of epic proportions. No one knows except for my closest family. I mean, you saw how Kira reacted and she’s my sister-in-law.”

“But not even Steve?” he questions, pulling the pen and pad of paper Stiles still brings closer so he can start his random doodles and notes. 

Stiles shakes his head. “No Avengers knew. Not even Clint, and he was there when Fury had to tell me your name.” He snorts and types a few words a bit too hard into his keyboard, still bitter about so many things that happened during that evening. “It was his hail mary since I was very clear I wasn’t going to work with him or the Avengers and threatened to toss both their asses out of my house.”

The pen scratches across the pad as Barnes’ hand tightens in reflex. “What?” 

He looks up from his screen with eyebrows raised. “What what?” Stiles doesn’t think his statement was that hard to decipher. “Fury is a nosy asshole who doesn’t respect privacy. This is not a new thought. I have been very vocal about that for a while.”

Barnes ignores his ramble as he stares intently at Stiles. “You said no?”

Stiles has to mentally backtrack to figure out what Barnes is talking about, but once it clicks, he gets the surprise. “Oh.” He stops typing because this is another part of the conversation that deserves his full attention. “I did. Not because I didn’t like the Avengers, but because I was furious that Fury invaded my privacy and the privacy of everyone on private forums that only spoke freely because they thought that no one outside the supernatural community could read.”

He squirms, trying to keep the anger off his face. “He tried all sorts of tactics to get me to agree. He told me I’d be well compensated, tried to flatter me, that sort of shit. It just made me angrier.” Stiles almost wishes there was a recording of his epic rant about trust breaking but better safe than sorry. “I told him to get the fuck out of my house - literally - multiple times. He wouldn’t even tell me the name of the person he wanted me to work with until I agreed to sign a non-disclosure agreement. I refused and called up my lawyer to get a non-disclosure agreement that _wouldn’t_ immediately take away all my freedoms.”

Stiles snickers as he thinks about how irritated he was and how determined he was to say no to whatever Fury told him. What a turn. 

“Even as I was signing, I was telling him no. Then he said your name. I said yes.”

Barnes inhales and exhales slowly, his gaze never wavering from Stiles’. “Just like that?”

Stiles shrugs. “Just like that. I mean, it took awhile for the lawyers to hash everything out because Fury’s paperwork was absolute bullshit and I almost feel bad for all the people that dragged here before they got to me, because _damn_. Their grandchildren are going to feel the legal wrath of that bitch. But I was going to make it work.”

This time, Barnes breaks eye contact first. Stiles did just throw him a lot of emotions, so he goes back to his paper and prepares to hear the door to the conference room open and close. He glances at the bottom right of his screen to check the time periodically, but the telltale _click_ never comes. After fifteen minutes pass, he risks a glance up. 

Barnes is running the pen back and forth on the paper, making shapes and lines. He doesn’t seem as disturbed as Stiles was preparing for, which is a nice change. 

After another twenty minutes, Barnes pushes the pad of paper away. Again, Stiles doesn’t look away from his computer and prepares for the other man to leave, but his exit doesn’t happen. 

“I don’t know how to feel about that.”

This doesn’t mark the first time Barnes has said such a statement during their sessions. At first, the statement was a roundabout way to request a change in topic. Now, Barnes means it as an invitation for Stiles to help him put words to the jumble of emotions he feels. 

Stiles saves his document and closes his laptop. “Okay. Any big positive feelings?” When Barnes shrugs, Stiles continues. “Big negative feelings?”

At this, Barnes shakes his head, which relieves Stiles. Big negative emotions are usually reserved for talks about Hydra and missions Barnes still halfway remembers. Stiles doesn’t realize how much he dreaded the big reveal compromising his relationship with Barnes until now. 

His shoulders drop and he lets out a sigh of relief. “All right then. Let’s narrow down one part and go from there. Which of my statements do you want to tackle first?” When Barnes keeps looking down at the pen in his hand and shrugs, Stiles takes the cue to offer suggestions. 

“Was it my actions regarding all the hoops Fury tried to make me jump through?” Another headshake. “Was it _his_ actions?” Barnes makes a face and glances up at Stiles for a few seconds before dropping his gaze and shaking his head, pulling the pad of paper close again so he can write on it. Stiles interprets the motions and expression. Barnes’ isn’t _happy_ about Fury’s actions, but he’s not tangled up about it. “Was it about my feelings regarding Fury?”

This time, he gets a firmer headshake, but Barnes takes a deep breath, like he’s preparing to talk. Sometimes he gains words once Stiles eliminates options. “You said you would make it work.”

Slowly, Stiles nods. “I made it clear that I wanted to help but not at my own expense. I knew that if Fury wanted me as badly as he implied he did, he would be willing to meet me halfway. I was right.”

The scribbling stops again. “That.”

Stiles props his chin on his palm, hoping the casual stance will relieve some of the tension in Barnes’ body. The other man plays off Stiles’ own body cues more and more as the trust between them builds. “That Fury pushed so hard for me?” Barnes shakes his head firmly. Stiles narrows his eyes as he considers his statements. “That I changed my mind and tried so hard to make it work?” 

Barnes hesitates and Stiles plows forward, because he thinks he knows where this is going. Shit. He should have figured out a way to tell Barnes himself, because clearly Stiles’ changing his song and dance once he knew who he was helping actually _is_ a roadblock that he just shoved in Barnes’ road to recovery. 

As he tries to gather his own thoughts so he won’t fuck this up even further, Barnes stops writing and looks up at Stiles again. “Steve is the only one who’s tried so hard for me without ulterior motives.”

The statement absolutely _floors_ him. Stiles blinks in surprise because that is the exact opposite of what was going through his own mind. “What?” he asks softly. 

In the face of Stiles’ shock, Barnes shrugs and looks away. “You wanted to help me. You compromised. Put your life on hold. Your school. You haven’t seen your family in months. All for me. You did it for me.”

Stiles has to swallow past his own emotions. He is not going to cry, _damn it_. 

“And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

Barnes picks up on the emotion in Stiles’ voice and meets his gaze. 

“But I’m not the same guy who rescued your grandfather.”

Stiles laughs a little. “You’re not the same guy I first met a few months ago either. You’re not the same guy you were a week ago. A day ago. Hell, a _minute_ ago. We grow; we breathe. We change every microsecond. For the good or the bad or the ugly, we change. Comparing yourself to any single snapshot of yourself does a disservice to every thing that makes you _you_ , right this very second.” 

He leans forward and pulls a move right out of his dad’s mannerisms without even thinking about it, tapping the conference table with his index finger to emphasize his statement. Stiles’ eyebrow is even raised in a parody of his dad’s _Sheriff Expression_. “And I’m saying this to the guy sitting across from me _right now_ , I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

Barnes’ mouth opens in surprise, just a little. Stiles clears his throat and sits back, face flushing at the reaction to the rather vehement speech. Silence descends on the room and Stiles resists the urge to slide until the table and hide. 

“Thank you.”

The soft response forces his embarrassment back. With a smile, Stiles nods at Barnes. “Thank _you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not even list all the shit that has gone down. Let me just put it this way:
> 
> Something happened at work where a bunch of us were talking and a co-worker off-handedly mentioned that the whole ordeal was making her PTSD flare up. I stared at her with my mouth open because _she was right_. It's been about a month since the ending to this thing happened (NOT Covid-19 related, although fuck 2020 anyway), and we are all still feeling the effects. I might go into a later detail on my tumblr just because I think it'll cathartic to get it out anyway. This chapter is almost a mirror of what I needed my self-talk to be anyway. 
> 
> I'm sorry that I left people hanging, but I did warn you! I also don't know when the next chapter will be up. I have an idea of how it's going to go. I also have two half-chapters written for The Other Side, which if you haven't seen is the companion piece to this fic with various one-shorts and other POV scenes. You may have noticed it because this fic is part of a series! If you have an idea of a scene that you'd love to see between any characters (even if they haven't appeared in this fic), let me know!! I'll take all the inspiration I can get. 
> 
> Speaking of, if there is interest, I'll do a "director's cut" of the fic. Basically, what inspired a scene, my thoughts while writing it, funny anecdotes, etc. Let me know!
> 
> As always, please be safe, my darlings. The world is a dumpster fire in so many ways. So many. Know that even though I'm not here as often as I used to be, I love each and every one of you unconditionally. Thank you for reading!


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